


With Clipped Wings

by theimmortalliz



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Consent Issues, Drama, Flashbacks, Gen, Implied Clint/Coulson - Freeform, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Slavery, past loki/clint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 20:24:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 48
Words: 41,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimmortalliz/pseuds/theimmortalliz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is gifted to Midgard as retribution for his actions, and is left in the control of Clint Barton. Eventual Loki/Clint because I accidentally. Takes place sometime after Avengers Assemble, ignoring anything after that, but with added Coulson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Poetic Justice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/635514) by [Limmet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limmet/pseuds/Limmet). 



Clint perched in his chair, hunched over the parchment unfurled over his knees. _I, Odin, king of the Aesir, gift unto Midgard Loki Laufeyson..._ He chewed his lip but didn't look up. It was the third time he had read the parchment since he had been visited by a pair of other-worldly prison guards, their charge bound and gagged between them. _...to be left in the possession of Clint Barton, for he is the one most personally wronged by the crimes of Laufeyson..._ His breath caught in his throat for the third time as, once again, he felt the ghost of a chill in his chest where Loki's staff had once pierced him. He stopped his hand for rubbing the point just right of his heart, and instead cleared his throat. The figure kneeling on the floor in front of him did not look up.

 

Loki looked as if he had been shrunk since they had last met; he was no longer the imposing, tall-standing figure who had levelled half of New York as he sat slumped on Clint's floor. His hair, lank and longer than it had been, hung in front of his face, casting his features into shadow. His eyes were dark and focussed resolutely on a spot just short of Clint's chair. He was gagged, with a metallic device similar to the one Clint had last seen him in, and bound with one single chain from the collar around his throat to the shackles on his ankles, via the manacles on his wrists. It made Clint feel no safer in the god's presence. In his lap sat the keys, which had been left with him for use at his discretion, and they felt heavier than they should.

 

 _...Laufeyson is devoid of his magical powers, those being withheld from him whilst he is in bondage..._ Clint swallowed, unable to believe the words on the page. He had experienced Loki's magic first-hand, and it was impossible that someone so powerful could have all of their gifts removed. Loki seemed to flinch, as if he knew which part of the agreement Clint was reading. He hated to think how exactly one went about removing someone's powers. _...He is to be held until such a time that Midgard considers his debts to be repaid..._ And how would he repay what he had done? Even if he was expected only to make amends to Clint, the damage that he had done had been so vast, so deeply reaching, that it would never be made up for. _...And he shall be held by Midgard to do with as they see fit, unless an attempt to escape is made then the penalty shall be that of Asgard, and will be that of death..._ So there was something on this godforsaken piece of parchment that would result in Loki getting exactly what he deserved, a clause that meant he wouldn't be able to escape forever the consequences of his actions, but as Clint watched the bound figure on his floor shift uncomfortably he felt a pang of guilt for feeling such. He suppressed it – the people of Earth might still decide the best way for Loki to pay for his crimes would be with his life, and he would deserve it if so.

 

It was still inescapable to Clint who was sat on his floor. The figure was almost unrecognisable, with his hair over his face and his body curled over itself, but Clint knew it for the monster it was. Loki's fists were clenched. Clint could remember them clenched in his hair, as his head lay in Loki's lap and his mouth spilled secrets; his chest started to grow tight, his breath short. He was beginning to panic, he could feel it rising from his stomach and up into his chest, feel his mind growing cloudy with fear. He folded the parchment with shaking hands and unfolded his legs from underneath him, and although he felt he might fall he stood as confidently as he could and walked quickly from the room, constantly looking over his shoulder at the god kneeling in the middle of his living room floor. 


	2. The Cry for Help

“C'mon, c'mon...” Clint muttered under his breath, his mouth desperately dry and his eyes locked on the door he had shut behind him, just in case the creature in his living room was somehow able to magic himself free. The phone in his hand rang mercilessly.“Just pick up, _please_...”

 

“You've reached Agent Coulson.” Said a cool, professional voice on the other end of the line.

 

“It's Clint.” He managed, between fast breaths. “I need help.”

 

“Can it wait?” Said Coulson, voice level, but with a hint of tiredness. Clint was painfully aware of how often he called, how much he had leant on his handler since Loki had taken control of him, but there was no where else for him to turn. There was no one else, besides perhaps Natasha, who he felt he could trust with his bad days, and this was so much worse than the worst of his bad days as the object of his fear was in his home.

 

“No, it can't. I can't explain. Just... come.” He could feel his voice rising and falling with the waves of panic that were washing over him, his heart palpitating with every one. He needed Coulson to come, to hold his hand, to fix the situation. He hoped and prayed he sounded desperate enough to convince Coulson to drop his work and come.

 

“Alright.” Said Coulson, unable to disguise the resignation in his tone. “Just give me a minute to wrap things up here.”

 

*

 

Coulson arrived at Clint's doorstep within half an hour. Clint hadn't left the hallway, not wanting to return to his living room alone, and he jumped when the buzzer for his door rang. His heart still racing he answered it and Coulson stepped inside, removing his sunglasses as he did so.

 

“So what's the problem?” His handler said, an open and inviting smile painting his face. Clint was as white as he had ever seen him, and he had never seen his archer's hands tremble before. He kept all worry out of his voice and continued to smile, waiting for Clint to say what he wanted to to break the ice. But Clint said nothing, instead turning on his heel and motioned for Coulson to follow. “What's going on?”

 

“I said I couldn't explain.” Clint said, voice low and surprisingly level as he opened his living room door and stepped inside. The figure on the floor had shifted; it was doing its best to hold its knees close to its chest but the chains restraining it made it obviously difficult. Coulson followed Clint in, catching sight of the figure the moment he did so. The long black hair and Asgardian clothing made it unmistakable even from behind, but Coulson still cautiously crossed in front of it to look it in the face.

 

“Loki?” He asked, equally to the god on the floor as to Clint. Clint cleared his throat by way of answering. Loki did not look up, but seemed to tense at the mention of his name. “What...?” Coulson started, but could not finish, the situation being beyond words. Clint walked to the chair he had occupied, his eyes never leaving Loki for a second, and picked up the parchment he had left there. He handed it to Coulson and folded his arms.

 

“He's mine.” He said, simply, a slight shrug in his shoulders. “Asgard gave him to me.”

 

*

 

“So why not just hand him over to SHIELD?” Coulson said. Clint took the parchment from Coulson's hands and scanned it quickly.

 

“Here,” He pointed to one of the overly-verbose clauses. “ _If Clint Barton is to relinquish control of Laufeyson, then this contract shall be considered void and Laufeyson shall be returned to Asgard to await penalty of death._ ”

 

“And that's a bad thing?” Coulson glanced over at Loki, whose green eyes remained firmly fixed on the floor.

 

“I can't...” Clint said, his shoulders dropping. “You know I can't...” Loki had, once, been his entire world. He had sat at his feet, head in his lap; he had let Loki stroke his hair and his back, place kisses on his forehead when he had done well; he had shared every inch of his soul with the being on his floor. He had not done so willingly but all those feelings had still felt so real, the infatuation, the desperate desire to please his master, and they refused to fade. They stayed with him, as real as the icy feeling in his chest whenever he thought about Loki's staff piercing his skin.

 

“Clint...” Coulson turned back to him and placed his hands on Clint's shoulders. “We've talked about this. He's a _monster_. You know what he did to you, _everything_ he did to you, you can't carry on feeling like this.”

 

“It doesn't just go away because I want it to.” Clint said, through gritted teeth, trying to keep his frustration and anger under control. He couldn't believe he was having this discussion when the man responsible for everything he felt was sat not five feet away. “I'm not handing him over.” Loki suddenly seemed to relax, as if he had been holding his breath, and for the first time since his arrival his eyes lifted to rest on Clint. There was a shadow of something in them, perhaps gratitude?, but it couldn't be. It was more like relief.


	3. The Opening of Locks

“What're you going to do with him?” Coulson asked in a muted tone. He and Clint were facing each other but couldn't stop their eyes drifting to the god still bound and gagged on the floor.

 

“I don't know. Keep him, I guess.” Clint shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his hands in his pockets. He didn't like it, but he had no other choice.

 

“Do you really think that's a good idea?” Coulson asked him, his face the picture of concern. “We both know how he treated you, what he did, how hard we've worked to get you through this...” His hand gently brushed Clint's lower arm in an almost invisible gesture. And Clint did know, painfully so, how hard it had been to get back on his feet after New York had been saved and everyone else had had their happy ending. The guilt had been unbearable for the longest time, feeling responsible for the destruction and the deaths, knowing that he hadn't been in control of his actions but still knowing what he had done. It had nearly destroyed him. He broke eye contact and looked at the floor. “And besides...” Coulson gave the flat a quick glance over. “SHIELD only provided you with a one-bedroom flat. It's not good for you two to be in such close proximity.”

 

“Don't try and tell me what's good for me.” Clint muttered, eyes narrowing for a split second. He sighed, looking back up at Coulson. “It'll be one night.” Clint said, non-committally, with a shrug of his shoulders. He picked up the keys from the chair behind them. Coulson would have asked about Clint's plans but the keys in his hand stopped him.

 

“Don't tell me you're going to unchain him.”Coulson's shoulders dropped, knowing his agent wasn't about to listen to him. He watched as Clint stepped forwards so he was no more than a few paces away from Loki.

 

“You read the terms of his enslavement.” Clint said, the words feeling strange in his mouth. “He can't harm anyone or attempt to escape, unless he wants to die.” He locked eyes with the god, who was glaring at him from the floor. “Do you want to die?” Loki didn't move, eyes unwavering, with nothing to suggest that he wasn't about to throttle Clint. Eventually he looked away, his shoulders falling in a show of resignation. “Okay then.” Clint crouched down in front of Loki, painfully aware of all the times before that he had crouched in front of the god, and reached out a hand to him. Loki didn't move, although his breathing quickened, as he let Clint turn his head to examine the gagging device. There were keyholes on either side of the god's jaw; Clint unlocked them and the device came away in two pieces, the back strap being relatively innocent but the mouthpiece contained a large plate, like a scold's bridle, designed to sit uncomfortably in the mouth. Loki's lips were red raw, and his jaw was bruised. He was blissfully quiet as Clint proceeded to unlock the rest of Loki's manacles. The chains fell away with a clatter. Clint was aware of Coulson's hand hovering over his gun as he took a step backwards to allow Loki space to stand up.

 

Loki's full height was enough to dwarf both the other men in the room but he was thinner than when they had last met, the bones in his wrists obvious as he stretched his long arms in front of him. His spine cracked. Clint took another step backwards so he was standing next to Coulson, whose hand was still over his weapon, and warily watched the god. Loki's hands formed soft fists as they came to rest by his side, his eyes refocussing on a spot on the floor just short of Clint's feet. Seeing Loki stand his full height made Clint's stomach clench, made his mouth grow dry and his palms grow damp. He could feel his usually steady nerves beginning to shatter. There was a ghost of a smirk on Loki's lips.  


	4. The First Orders

The two men and the god stood in Clint Barton's living room. Loki's face was unreadable, the slightest of smiles touching his lips probably just an imagination on the part of Clint, and the god stood perfectly still with his hands loosely balled at his sides. Clint shifted, his hands in his pockets, his eyes moving from the god to his left, waiting for him to make a move, to his handler on his right, for the steadiness Coulson provided. The air felt thick in Clint's lungs as he struggled to keep his breathing steady. He wet his lips before speaking.

 

“How about we all sit down?” He suggested, hoping to make his flat feel less like a Western stand-off. Coulson stepped aside, pulling one of Clint's dining chairs over from the small dinner table, and sat on it, bolt upright, as professional as if he were at a SHIELD meeting. Clint took the armchair, crouched on the seat so he was ready to spring up at any moment. Loki remained standing, his green eyes hard. Clint watched him carefully, but the god didn't move. He glanced over at Coulson for confirmation of what he knew he had to do. “Loki.” He said, the top notes of his voice quivering. “Sit down.” The god swallowed but the direct order was inescapable; he sat on the edge of the sofa, his whole body tense and his features darkened by the embarrassment of having to acquiesce to the command.

 

“Is this how you're going to play it?” Asked Clint, folding his hands in front of him and never breaking from those burning green eyes no matter how much he wanted to. Loki said nothing, the slight narrowing of his eyes the only answer. Clint sighed and looked across at Coulson, who gave him the minutest shrug of his shoulders. “Alright. Loki, I -” He faltered, took a deep breath, and started again. It felt so strange to be issuing commands to the one who had commanded him for so long. “I o-order you to respond.”

 

“As you wish.” Said the god, his voice cracking through lack of use. Clint shuddered at the all-too-familiar sound; it was like a bucket of ice water being thrown over him, reminding him of all the nights he had spent curled at Loki's feet or in his bed, of all the orders he had been so glad to follow to please his master. He caught himself wringing his hands and stopped, taking another deep breath.

 

“So, you're my slave.” Clint said, almost conversationally, forcing his tone to be as casual as he could manage.

 

“I am enslaved to all of Midgard.” Said Loki, unable to keep himself from correcting the archer. Clint let out a sigh of exasperation and Loki seemed, although Clint wasn't certain that it wasn't just his imagination, to flinch just slightly. “But, for all intents and purposes, yes. I am your slave.” He spoke slowly, the words dragging themselves from his lips, as if it physically pained him to speak them. And it must have done, Clint thought, taking some pleasure in that. He had learnt a lot about Loki in the time he had been possessed and the god was a creature of pride, so to have that pride hurt made Clint want to smile. He kept his face neutral as he posed his next question.

 

“And you stay a slave until your crimes have been repaid?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And then what?” Clint asked, unable to stop himself. The thought of Loki potentially being free again terrified him, considering nothing would be enough recompense for the damage he had done. The god was silent for a moment, his lips pressed together.

 

“Then Asgard will reconsider my fate.” He said, eventually, his shoulders falling. Even after completing his term as a slave there would still be time owing, and Clint took refuge in the glimmer of hope which was Loki's continued imprisonment.

 

“Okay.” Clint said, knowing that taste suggested he shouldn't let his joy show but letting the corners of his mouth twitch upwards anyway. “But you're my slave until then. What am I expected to do with you?” Ignoring the prickling of his morals, worsened by his personal experience, which he felt whenever someone mentioned slavery, Clint could find no purpose for a servant. Slavery must still be commonplace in Asgard, if it were to be considered a punishment, and perhaps Loki would know what his punishment was meant to entail. The god closed his eyes and sighed, speaking slowly when he did so as if every word were an effort.

 

“Whatever you see fit.”

 

“Well.” Clint sat back and rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn't noticed how tense he had been, how each of his muscles had balled up and started aching. “Right now I see it fit to feed you.” His head had been beginning to ache, as it always did when he was hungry, but his suggestion of food was as much a reason to escape from Loki's gaze as it was an excuse to eat. He stood up, stretched, and motioned to Coulson to follow him before turning to Loki once more. “Stay there.”

 

*

 

“How are you feeling?” Coulson asked, leaning against the counter in Clint's kitchen.

 

“It's... weird. Beyond weird.” Clint rearranged the few items in his fridge once more. He had been trying to make a decision for fifteen minutes, but no matter how many times he looked at the leftovers on offer he couldn't convince himself that there was anything there he'd want to eat right now. “Me ordering him around? Still feels like I'm doing something wrong. Chow mein alright with you?” Clint asked, attempting to change the subject. Coulson nodded but refused to let the subject die.

 

“He's playing games with you, Clint.”

 

“The defiant little shit.” Clint's tone was jovial but he still slammed the door of the microwave shut. He sighed as he set the timer. “I don't know what I'm going to do.”

 

“The best you can.” Said Coulson, rubbing a hand across Clint's shoulder.

 

*

 

Clint manoeuvred Loki to the small card table which served as a dining area with a combination of sharp glares and carefully worded, unmistakable instructions. The three of them sat, a bizarre tableaux of modern family life, an array of leftover Chinese boxes in front of them which had been heated through. Coulson served since Clint's hands were shaking once again, though probably more out of anger then out of fear this time. Loki watched intently, unable to mask his curiosity at the strange food being served, but when the plate was placed in front of him he made no moves towards it.

 

They sat in silence, Clint and Coulson watching Loki and Loki fixing his gaze on a point in the middle-distance, his face a picture of still quiet. His breathing was slow, eyes focussed but not seeing, as he waited out the time. Clint dropped his head and sighed.

 

“Loki.” He said, voice tired and low. Loki's expression didn't change, asides from a slight narrowing of his lips as he focussed his eyes on Clint. “Do I have to order you to eat?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's NaNoWriMo guys! For the month of November, this fic will update at least weekly.


	5. The First Night

Clint talked Coulson into staying the night with him, unable to think about spending the night alone in his flat with the monster that was now his slave. He was tired beyond any exhaustion he had ever felt, even that which came with spending days awake on missions, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into his nest and fall asleep, and have this all have been a horrible dream when he woke up. He knew that wasn't going to happen, though, and it broke his heart to know he would wake up in the morning, if he slept at all, to find Loki in his living room where he had been ordered to stay all night.

 

He had locked Loki back up, the god's long limbs refusing to be manipulated freely, in all of his chains aside from the barbaric gagging device. For some reason, despite all the acid words which had flowed past Loki's lips since they had first met, he could not bring himself to shove the cruel device between the god's teeth. There had been something in Loki's eyes when Clint had decided against the Asgardian scold's bridle, something which might have read as gratitude had it been in the eyes of anyone else. Clint decided to read nothing into it, knowing if he did he would only be caught up in yet another game, and ordered Loki quite roughly to stay put, to sleep until morning, and to not disturb either him or Agent Coulson. Loki had said nothing in response.

 

Clint had set up a bed for Coulson on the floor, from the bedding he had bought when he first realised he needed someone to stay with him some nights to keep the darkness at bay. For a while, straight after the battle for New York, Coulson and Natasha had alternated spending the night with him. He had forgotten how to sleep without someone by his side, and closing his eyes only brought back memories of it being Loki there. Now he was better, spending most of his nights alone, but Coulson had not expected him to spend this particular night alone and for that he was thankful. Coulson had ducked out of the flat to pick up his overnight bag and Clint had done nothing but panic until he was back.

 

Now he was back and Clint felt calmer, and the all-consuming tiredness had begun to creep back in. He could see Coulson was feeling it, too, and they wasted no time in getting ready for bed. They managed to slot into Clint's tiny bedroom with practised ease. Clint lay back on his bed and pulled the covers up, his eyes staring at the ceiling as he waited for sleep to hit him. It didn't. He lay for what seemed like hours, his thoughts swirling but his mind unable to come to any sensible conclusions.

 

“What am I going to do with him?” He asked the darkness.

 

“Hmm?” Coulson murmured.

 

“Are you awake?” Clint asked, rolling over onto his side to look at the agent.

 

“I am now. No, don't worry about it.” He said, pre-empting Clint's apologies. “What _are_ you going to do with him?”

 

“I don't know.”

 

“Well he can't stay here. Be reasonable, Clint.” Coulson said, seeing the look that was beginning to form on Clint's face in the half-light of the rapidly encroaching morning. “It won't be good for you.”

 

“I know. But what else do I do with him?”

 

“Call Stark.” Coulson said, as if it were as plain as day. “The tower is nearly repaired, he should have room to keep him until SHIELD can come up with a safe containment area...”

 

“I'm not giving him to SHIELD.” Clint said, resolutely.

 

“Clint...” Coulson sighed, settling in for an argument over the matter. “SHIELD has to intervene. This is a matter of international security. You know that.”

 

“I can't.” Clint said, with a certain finality, before turning over. “This conversation is over.”

 

“Until the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who was I to think I could update during NaNoWriMo. In future I won't lie about my update schedule. Sorry, guys!


	6. The Widow's Bite

Natasha Romanoff received the worst phone-call of her life at eight-fifteen the following morning. She was in the middle of her Pilates routine – something to keep her supple and sane – after her morning run and before her appointment with the SHIELD-appointed Tae Kwon Do sparring partner, when the phone rang. She had to check she hadn't misheard.

 

With a face like stone she took the subway out of town towards a car dealership. She hired a people mover in a fake name, it was dark blue and looked like something a soccer mom would drive, and drove it back into the centre of New York. She had the streets around Clint's apartment memorised.

 

*

 

Loki allowed himself to eat breakfast with minimal fuss – something Midgardians called 'corned flakes' served with milk – as the pain in his stomach was outweighing his desire to be difficult. Barton seemed pleased with his actions, not that it mattered to him how his master seemed, but Coulson still eyed him like one might a coiled python. When they were finished Barton ordered him to change into some clothes he had provided, a black hooded top and dark trousers, presumably because they were less conspicuous than his Asgardian wares. He had overheard Barton and his agent talking about how they planned to move him today, and marching a flamboyantly-dressed god through the city he tried to conquer couldn't be the best idea.

 

He let himself be bound again, even half-offering his hands to Barton when he presented the shackles and lifting his chin so he could fasten the ring around his neck. Next came the metal gag. Barton lifted it up to face height. Loki found himself instinctively, unintentionally, moving his head away. He silently cursed at his show of weakness.

 

Barton looked at him with something like pity and that made Loki feel even more sick, for nothing was worse than being pitied. “Promise not to say anything until I say you can speak again?” Barton asked.

 

“As you wish.” Said Loki, retaining his air of coldness through his relief.

 

*

 

Natasha arrived not long after Clint had finished reapplying Loki's chains. She buzzed the intercom and didn't even need to state her name, he instinctively knew it was her, and he let her up. She ran up the staircase.

  
“Where is he?” She said to him when he opened the door.

 

“Tasha...” He warned, still stepping aside to let her into the apartment. She brushed past him, face set, as she walked into the living room. Clint's apartment had few rooms, and her guess had been lucky; Loki was stood in the centre of the room, Coulson to one side watching over him, and he raised his green eyes to hers as she entered the room.

 

She hit him, hard, fist connecting with his cheekbone with a crunch. It was enough to knock him half a step backwards with a sharp exhale, his face turning away from her as his cheek began to redden.

 

“You piece of shit.” She spat, as Clint put his hand on her shoulder to gently hold her back. She shrugged him off but made no further advance upon Loki, who remained turned away from her. His breath was shallow as he watched her like one might an unexploded firework. Coulson had made no movement except for the touch of a smile now sitting on his lips.

 

“Tasha.” Clint said again, calmly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Come on. Leave it.” Natasha said nothing, her breathing still heavy with adrenalin, but she turned away from Loki and shook out her still balled fists.

 

“Fine. Alright.” She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly between slightly parted lips. “Where are we taking him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long hiatus on this fic. I had some personal problems which severely hampered my fic-writing abilities.


	7. The Tower

New York sped past the windows as Natasha viciously drove the van through the city; it looked so different from the ground, and despite himself Loki could not help but look avidly out the windows at the shops and the apartment blocks as they went by. Once upon a time this city might have been his, and the thought made his eyes sting and his heart heavy. Now he was a prisoner, trapped inside this tiny van and on his way to Hel knows where; he tried his restraints but found them as restrictive as ever. Coulson, sat opposite him, said nothing but still watched him closely, the grip on his pistol tightening. Loki eyed the gun carefully, still not sure of what it would do to his now powerless form, before turning his eyes to the world outside once again. It was a pleasant morning, everything aside, and he longed to be out there enjoying the cool spring sunlight.

 

Slowly, the streets around him began to look familiar. He couldn't place them, nor the buildings that seemed to touch the sky as he looked up at them, but he knew he had been here before. It was more than likely, of course, he had seen most of the city before, but these streets seemed significant somehow. His heart was turning to lead and he could hardly understand why.

 

And then there it was, erect in the burgeoning daylight like a lighthouse of capitalism; Stark Tower. It looked somewhat different from the state he had left it in; there were no structural problems, the windows had been replaced. The sign, like new, lit even the bright morning sky around it with a red haze which made his eyes burn. Stark Industries. What was he doing _here_.

 

*

 

After a brief conversation, in which Natasha was far too quick to offer her ex-Soviet services, Loki was manhandled out of the car between Clint and Coulson. Agent Coulson gripped his arm so firmly it might break but Barton was more hesitant, and Loki internally smirked. There was something so satisfying about his lingering effect on the man. Between them, however, they managed to drag him out of the car without too much hassle and onto the busy pavement. He half expected someone to say something, for it couldn't be every day that they saw a tall dark-haired stranger pinned in the grip of two men dressed at the opposite ends of the formality scale, but no one said a thing; they were curiously absorbed in the palm-sized devices they held, so much so that in the short distance from the curb to the door one man walked into Barton, only to mumble something and carry along on his way.

 

There was also not the greeting he was expecting at Stark Industries. There was no security, no guards standing by to check visitors as they entered, nothing at all. Just a large set of reinforced glass doors bearing the name of Stark. It was as disappointing as it was perplexing. Natasha cut in front of them and walked up to a metal panel in the wall. She pushed a button and a voice answered.

 

“Welcome to Stark Industries. With whom am I speaking?” The voice was curiously metallic, as if it weren't entirely human. Loki listened with intent.

 

“Natasha Romanoff.” She snapped. Barton looked over his shoulder as if they had been followed.

 

“Ah, Agent Romanoff. How may I help?” The voice had a different accent to his captors, as well as sounding somehow unreal.

 

“We need to come in.” She said, as if that was explanation enough. And it was, because at that moment the doors clicked and swung inwards, open only long enough to absorb the visitors into the vast emptiness of the foyer.

 

“Mr Stark is upstairs.” Said the voice, coming from everywhere all at once. “The lift is waiting for you.”

 

*

 

“Wow. Okay. How about... no?” A long explanation of Clint's predicament with his current charge had left Tony a little shell-shocked. It couldn't be possible. And yet here he was, standing in the same room as the god who had once thrown him through a window. He spread his hands, as if there was nothing he could do.

 

“Tony...” Clint started, a tiredness in his voice, but Coulson cut across him.

 

“If it weren't evident from my presence, Mr. Stark, this is official SHIELD business, so -”

 

“Official SHIELD business my ass.” Tony scoffed, pouring himself a generous helping of whiskey for nine-thirty in the morning. “If this were official SHIELD business you'd have him locked down somewhere on Tracey Island or wherever the Hell you lock down people like him. But _no_ , you're giving him to _me._ ”

 

“No.” Clint snapped, making Tony's eyes widen. “I'm not 'giving' him to you. That's not in the contract I got handed from the Asgardians.”

 

“Alright, sweetheart, didn't mean to ruffle your feathers.” Stark downed the whiskey in one and ignored the burning in his throat.

 

“It had to be made clear. His life could be at risk.” Tony did nothing but slightly furrow his eyebrows, as if to say he understood. A waste of life was still a waste, no matter whose worthless life it was.

 

“Alright then.” Stark turned his back and beckoned for them to follow him deeper into the tower's penthouse. “Guest rooms are all set up. And JARVIS?”

 

“Yes sir?” Answered the computer. Loki briefly turned his eyes to the ceiling as if searching out the source of the voice.

 

“Order in some breakfast. It's going to be a long one.” 


	8. The Second Breakfast

Loki sat still, staring at the magnolia walls of the guest bedroom, tense like a cat waiting to pounce. His hands were still bound, the metal now warm but still cutting against his skin, but his ankles had been freed and he was able to walk around. He had tried that, but it didn't keep his mind from racing. If anything it made it worse, and he did not want to be alone with those particular thoughts. Here he was, locked in one of Stark's tastefully yet lavishly decorated guest rooms, awaiting a fate surely worse than death. Here was where they would gather, 'The Avengers' as they were called, to each torment him in their own way. And he, in his weakened state, devoid of all his powers including those of accelerated healing, would be powerless to do anything to save himself. He slammed his hands into his knees, teeth bared, a frustrated growl escaping his lips. He went back to pacing the room.

 

*

 

Breakfast in the Stark household was hot dogs, delivered by a bright-eyed young man excited to be called to Stark Industries. He stepped out of the lift into the penthouse, eyes wide as he took in his surroundings. Natasha took the box of food from him and paid him generously; when he asked where Mr. Stark was, she gave him a look which could set him on fire and he quickly scurried back to the elevator.

 

They ate in the large living room, which was full of comfortable-looking sofas and chairs. No one was relaxing, however; they all sat on the edge of their seats, the silence consuming them as they consumed the dogs. Clint wasn't particularly hungry but he ate anyway, the bread thick in his mouth as he struggled to swallow.

 

Tony finished first, his appetite apparently unaffected by the day's strange happenings, and held his hand out to Clint.

 

“Let's see that document, then.” Clint swallowed his mouthful and pulled it carefully from his inside jacket pocket, where it had been burning a hole. Tony made a show of unfurling it and held it as if it might self-destruct. He muttered under his breath as he read. “ _I, a big Asgardian douche... gift unto Midgard,_ 'gift'? Screw that... _devoid of magical powers,_ well that's good... _until his debt has been repaid, yada yada yada..._ Well how do we know when that is?” He asked no one in particular. Clint shrugged his shoulders; he had been mulling over that particular clause all morning, and had no answers. “So, Legolas, you get to keep him as... wait where was it... _'whilst he is in bondage'_ or something... So you get to keep him as your slave? I mean, that's what that means, right?”

 

Clint bit his lip. He hadn't thought about it, but now Tony had brought it to his attention there it was, plain as day. A sick turning of the tables. Where once he had been Loki's slave, now Loki was his. He felt as if he could be sick. 

 

“ _Damn_.” Said Tony, shaking his head. “Rather you than me, buddy.” He rolled the scroll back up and handed it back to Clint, who took it without looking. His eyes were fixed on a point on the marbled floor, just above the real fur rug. Natasha put out a hand and gently touched his shoulder. 

 

*

 

Loki had given up pacing, preferring to curl up on the double bed, back against the headboard. His stomach, if he ever stopped thinking to pay it time, was turning uncomfortably as if it had been replaced with the Midgard Serpent. He set his jaw and resolutely ignored it, hating to feel so nervous, so scared, so weak in the presence of those he once sought to control. In the presence of one he had once controlled. He tried the manacles around his wrists once more but they were as tight and as solid as ever; he was going nowhere, for even if he could get his hands free the door was locked using a coded system he did not understand. He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly between his lips, his mind circling his situation as he tried to find a way out.

 

He had no idea how long he sat, thinking about elaborate escape plans or complex loopholes in the document which bound him, but after a long while there was a tentative knock at the door. He said nothing, but still there was a beep and a click and the door swung open. In walked Barton, holding a box, followed by Stark, who shut the door behind him. It locked again with another click. He suddenly felt shut in, cornered, and every muscle in his body tensed. Whilst Stark's dark eyes never wavered from him, Barton spoke to his feet rather than to the room.

 

“I think you know you're in Stark Tower.” Loki said nothing, although many a choice response came to mind. “You're to obey any command of Tony Stark's as if it came from me. Do you understand?” Clint looked up and Loki, with effort, inclined his head in acknowledgement. His eyes flicked to Stark, who seemed overcome with a sudden smugness at the thought of having a slave – although the man should be used to it, someone of his social standing must have had dozens of servants, he reflected. His eyes drifted back to Barton, who was now talking to a spot north of Loki's shoulder. “This is your room. You're to stay in here, at all times.” He spoke with a stiffness, and the words did not seem to come easily from his mouth. He stood, firmly planted, as if he were addressing a battalion rather than one lowly slave. 

 

“I understand.” Said Loki, forcing his bored tone so that it, too, was slightly unnatural. 

 

“Okay, then.” Clint said, still not meeting his eye. He seemed to suddenly become aware of the box in his hands. “These are for you.” He said, putting the box on the end of the bed. Loki eyed it with suspicion as he stepped backwards, resuming his army-like stance. “Eat them whenever.”

 

“Or don't.” Stark cut across him, with a shrug of his shoulders. “I mean, what do we care?” Clint pursed his lips and briefly glanced backwards at the man who had interrupted him, before turning his eyes back to Loki. He met his green eyes with such intensity that Loki felt his muscles tense once again.

 

“I guess we don't.”

 


	9. The Bad Advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains a mild suicide reference. Warning because I would have really appreciated this warning on a lot of things a couple of months ago.

There was no clock in the room so Loki could not accurately judge the passage of time, but he knew hours must have passed because the sun had gone from its weak morning glimmer to a piercingly bright midday. He watched its path across the sky, for there was seldom little else to do except consider drowning himself in the en-suite bathroom, or ignore the food which had been left for him. So they weren't convening in the tower, he mused, as he listened to the quiet which surrounded him. He knew that he would have heard the others arriving, he had acute hearing and in his experience The Avengers weren't exactly quiet or understated. He took solace in the quiet, knowing that plans against him could not be in motion whilst it was there.

 

*

 

Natasha left with the van when JARVIS informed her it was illegally parked and the police were on the prowl; she kissed Clint on the cheek and squeezed his hand before she departed with a curt if polite goodbye to the others. It was like watching a pillar crumble for Clint. He felt so much more alone without her personal support and her cool, rational head. Tony thankfully excused himself and his chattering mouth to go and shower, saying in his usual overly-verbose fashion that he and Agent should make themselves at home. Clint felt this was an impossibility as he sat on the edge of his seat, unable to relax into the situation as Tony had done. Coulson, sat next to him, put a hand on his knee and said nothing. Clint put his head in his hands.

 

*

 

Loki sat bolt upright, eyes and ears sharp as he listened to the sounds of the building around him. Somewhere beneath the floor a pipe was groaning. He let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding and leant back against the pillows. He had been asleep, growing bored of watching the clouds pass, and had awoken sharply at the sound. He closed his eyes but his mind was too awake to notice, so he opened them again to stare at the chandelier and the beautifully-sculpted ceiling which surrounded it. The Man of Iron must not entertain guests frequently, he thought, noticing a small cobweb dangling off one of the chandelier's beads. On it was a tiny spider, scurrying around the web, about its business without a care as to who else was in the room. Had he his magic he might have set it alight, and watch it and the web burn into fine ash as he sat idly by. He curled and uncurled his fingers, willing them to grow hot with flames. He sighed and turned his gaze from his empty hand back to the spider, working hard to complete its home.

 

*

 

“What do I do?” Clint sat up, scrubbing his hands over his face. He felt as if he could sleep for days and yet felt like if he were offered a bed now he would remain wide awake in it. Tony had offered him a guest room, one of his many, in case Asgard regarded him not residing in the same place as Loki as handing him over. He would ask Coulson to go back to his flat and pick up some of his things – Natasha had offered but he hadn't been thinking straight enough to say yes – and put his flat into lock-down so that it would remain untouched until such a time as he could return. 'What do I do?' was not so much a question of practicality, but rather a cry for help.

 

“Take it a day at a time.” Coulson said, hands clasped loosely in his lap. “That's all you can do.”

 

“One day was too much.” Clint grit his teeth against a wave of tears which threatened to wash over him. His shoulders shook. “I can't do it.” Coulson put a hand on his neck, pulling him close. He kissed Clint's temple before pulling him in close. Clint let Coulson wrap his arms around him, shaking in his arms until eventually he became still.

 

“You can do it, Clint. Because you have to. I know you, and you've always been one for a challenge.” Clint began to shake his head but Coulson simply pulled him tighter, refusing to let him doubt himself. “I don't know why but I know you don't want Loki to be killed, so just remember that.”

 

“You can't understand what this is like.”

 

“You're right, I don't understand at all. But it will get easier.”

 

*

 

The spider had stopped to rest, its work complete, in the centre of its web. Loki had grown bored watching it long before then and instead had taken to pacing the room, doing laps of the bed, in and out of the bathroom and past the window, before stopping at the door to listen carefully for any noise coming from beyond it. He heard nothing. The pipes had also stopped groaning, so now there was nothing for him to listen to except the silence. He welcomed it and at the same time cursed it, for it gave him time alone with his thoughts. He was most occupied with his own sentence, and the fact that his fate could only be changed after his crimes had 'been repaid'. He could but wonder what that meant. He was almost certain it would involve something horrible, something pain-filled and torturous. He set his jaw and carried on pacing.

 

*

 

When Clint had calmed into the melancholy, Coulson tried being pragmatic.

 

“You have to establish yourself as an authority with him.” He said, his arm still around Clint's shoulder. “Let him know you're not to be screwed with.”

 

“And how do I do _that_.” Clint glanced at him, bitterly, before turning his gaze back to the floor. Just being in the man's presence made him want to shrink back and cry, as he remembered every hand Loki had laid on him and every secret he had spilled.

 

“You've got to find the strength to do it.” Coulson said, digging his fingertips briefly into Clint's shoulder. “Else this is going to be a difficult...”

 

“Difficult what? Month? Year? _Years_?” Clint stood up, forcefully breaking away from Coulson. He turned on him, viciously. “You have _no idea_ what he did to me! What he made me do!” Coulson opened his mouth but Clint would not let him speak. “You don't get to talk to me about this!” He plucked his coat off the back of the sofa and slung it over his shoulders.

 

“Where are you going?” Coulson called after him, worried.

 

“I don't care.” Clint said, stepping into the lift. 


	10. The Good Advice

SHIELD had many locations all over the world – they were everywhere, because they needed to be – but one of their key strategic bases was in New York. It was the heart of metropolitan America, the site of the battle for the earth, and they needed their presence to be felt. And it was felt; people couldn't explain it when asked, but they felt safer somehow than they did anywhere else.

 

“Look at these readings.” Said one agent to another, handing over dossier. It had been a strange morning – they had been watching the world, as they always did, for any alien activity, which there never was. Only now, there was something. It was only small, a more refined entry than they had ever seen, causing only the smallest of tears in the fabric of space (as they understood it). But it was unmistakably _there_. The second agent cocked his head and pushed his glasses up his nose. 

 

“You double checked?”

 

“Triple.” Said the first agent, pointing out the relevant readings. The second made a noise in his throat and thumbed through the papers again. 

 

*

 

Clint walked and walked until his feet began to hurt. His hands were in his pockets and his head was down, staring at the fast-moving pavement beneath his feet. He ducked and dodged people instinctively, knowing where they were before even they knew where they were going, and cursed each and every one of them under his breath. These people, going about their small lives as if, only months previously, their whole existence hadn't been completely threatened. They lived with no ramifications, except perhaps the minor inconvenience of a destroyed road being closed, and he hated them for it. Even those who had lost loved ones had been allowed time to grieve, time to move on; he had tried to move on, with every fibre of his being, but now he had been thrown all the way back to the start of his healing process. And, to make matters worse, for time infinitum he would not be able to start moving forwards because he was stuck with him.  _Loki_ . A living nightmare. 

 

When he looked up he found he was outside an inconspicuous-looking building, but in its blandness was instantly recognisable. SHIELD knew most of the Avengers had chosen to settle in New York, the psychological wounds of the battle still fresh, and they had provided them with provisions accordingly. This building, with its plain glass front and simple key-pad lock, was a gym specifically designed for SHIELD's more specialised agents, including the Avengers. Although he could not explain why, he punched in the key-code and let himself in.

 

The gym was full of a stale silence save for one thing; the rhythmic thump-thump-pause of someone laying into a punching bag with a jab-hook-duck. For a moment Clint stood still, undetected in the quiet, and considered turning around and leaving again. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be around anyone, especially not anyone as self-righteous and clean-cut as Steve Rogers, but his feet couldn't find it in them to leave.

 

He walked quietly, so as not to disturb the man mid-punch, knowing that doing so might cause the Captain's self-defence mechanism to kick in and Clint would receive a beating instead of the punch-bag. From a safe distance he called out.

 

“Uh, Captain?” 

 

“Agent Barton.” He said, without turning around, and Clint shrugged it off; his hyper-vigilant, super-soldier senses probably recognised the sound of his footsteps. The Captain hadn't missed a beat in his routine, still hitting the punch-bag with frightening force. When he noticed Clint hadn't moved, as if he were waiting for him to finish, he stopped. Clint hadn't been waiting and the air between them now hung heavy with the potential for conversation, something which he was dreading. “Something the matter?” Steve said, his ever-polite tone tinted with concern. Clint broke gaze and looked away, suppressing the urge to shout or cry or both. Steve took a step and closed the space between them. 

 

“It's Loki.” Clint found himself saying, as if he were no longer in control of his own mouth. He swallowed, lips dry, trying to find the energy to say the next sentence. He knew immediately what the Captain's stance would be, what he would be forced to do; hand Loki over to SHIELD, break the terms of the Asgardians' contract. He did not want to tell Steve about the situation, but he needed to. “He's back.” 

 

*

 

“It's stupid but I still have nightmares about him.” Clint said, weary after a long explanation of the events spanning the past two days. He was sat on the floor, back against the gym wall, with the Captain sat next to him. “I can still feel him, in my chest, in my head, in my fingers. I hear his voice in my head and feel his eyes burning into the back of my neck. I can still feel him _touching me_.” Clint's voice broke and the slightest of tremors passed over him, lingering in his hands where it was noticeable. Steve let the silence sit between them whilst Clint gathered himself.

 

“He has no power over you now.” Steve said, gently. “It's important you remember that. And it's important you show him that. You're strong, Clint. Stronger than any of us. I hate to think how I'd have have coped if Loki... If he had done to me what he did to you.” Clint shook his head. 

 

“How can I even be in the same room as him?” He asked, the very thought making him feel sick. 

 

“By knowing you're better than him.”

 

“That's easy to say.” Clint said, hugging his knees and resting his chin on them. “But how do I deal with him?”

 

“You have to make it clear that he can't hurt you. And if you can't, and there's no shame in that, then you get someone else to. Be explicit, be clear. You'll be alright.” Steve slapped him on the back and stood up, stretching out his huge shoulders. “You always are.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie, for personal reasons this was difficult to write. If that's reflected in the style then I apologise.


	11. The First Punch

Clint stopped by his apartment on the way home and threw an assortment of clothes, half for him and half, with a begrudging thought, for Loki, into a duffle bag. The air in the flat smelt different, _was_ different, since Loki had been in there. It was tainted, stifling as if it lacked oxygen, and Clint could hardly bare it. He spent no longer than he had to and found himself breathing much more deeply once he was outside the apartment block and into New York's less-than-clean air. 

 

*

 

The sun was covered by grey clouds, to which it gave a sparkling golden lining, and now Loki had nothing to watch save the grey shapes the wind formed in the cloud and the smog high above the city. He had been pulling at his bounds without even realising, passing the time by pulling first with his left wrist then with his right, wearing down the skin around the bones to the point of bleeding. He was surprised when he realised what he had done but no more, as the pain gave him something else to concentrate on other than the plain cream walls and the passing of time outside. At the points where the blood welled he licked it clean, the iron bitter in his mouth. 

 

*

 

Clint knocked twice on Loki's door, the half-empty duffle bag swung over one shoulder, and waited. When no answer came he unlocked it with the key-card Tony had given him and let himself in, expecting to find the god asleep. Instead he found Loki sitting on the edge of the bed, muscles tense and eyes glittering like a panther's, his wrists bloodied as he stared intensely out of the window. He did not turn to look at Clint.

 

“ _Shit_.” Muttered Clint, pushing the door shut behind him and dropping the bag on the floor. He crossed the room in three quick strides and dropped to his knees at Loki's feet. One hand fumbled in his pocket for the key the Asgardian guards had given him, whilst the other gently turned Loki's bound wrists over. The key slipped in his fingers as he fumbled to get in the lock, hands shaking as his eyes took in the damage. _Just superficial, nothing serious_. Loki said nothing and continued staring straight ahead until the chains fell from his wrists. He looked down at his free hands then down at Clint, the scene ever too familiar, with Clint on his knees at Loki's feet. Clint's heart skipped a beat and his stomach gave a sickening lurch as he leapt up. 

 

“You don't control me.” He said, unsure of who he was reassuring. Loki looked at him, green eyes wide, before turning his head back to the window, the smallest of smiles on his lips. “Did you hear me?” Clint found his voice rising. “I _said_ , did you _hear me._ ” 

 

“Oh, I heard you.” Loki said quietly, smile a little wider. “I was just wondering if old habits die hard.” 

 

Before Clint knew what he was doing he had hit Loki, striking his left cheekbone hard with his closed fist. “Do not ever,  _ever_ , speak to me like that again!” Clint shouted, causing Loki to flinch back as if he were expecting to be hit again. Breathing hard, he looked up through the curtain of hair which was covering his rapidly-bruising cheek.

 

“As you wish, _master_.” He spat, livid, willing his magic to come back. 

 

“Woah, hey!” Neither had noticed the door unlocking behind them and Tony entering the room. Loki allowed himself to look momentarily relieved before quickly righting himself and pushing his hair out of his face. “Let's just stop right there!” Clint turned slowly, realisation dawning on him. 

 

“I had to...” Was all he could manage.

 

“I know, Agincourt, but let's just step back a minute. Come with me, c'mon.” He put an arm around Clint's shoulder and led him out. “And _you_ ,” He said to Loki, a moment before shutting the door, “ _Stay there_.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUPER FUN HISTORY FACT TIME: The Battle of Agincourt was a major English victory in the Hundred Years War, primarily because the English had access to longbows.


	12. The Unlikely Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains references to violent sexual acts. If you are an impressionable youth, get out of here.

Tony forced Clint into an arm-chair with a firm hand on his shoulder, before sitting himself down in one of the other lavish seats. He sat back, hand absent-mindedly stroking his goatee as he considered the agent in front of him.

 

“You know,” He said, for lack of anything else to say, “I've never actually seen you hit someone before.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Clint said, narrowing his eyes. “The Battle for The Earth...”

 

“No, nope, didn't see it.” He shook his head on each word, punctuating his point. “Granted I was pretty busy myself most of the time but... What happened back there?” He dropped his voice, his tone more frank and honest than Clint had ever heard it.

 

“He'd done something... To his wrists...” Clint said, quietly, refusing to make eye contact. His leg juddered restlessly and his hands shook. “I went to check and... I bent down and...” Clint's voice caught in his throat and he stopped, listless, unable to say anything. He looked down at his shaking hands.

 

“Hey, Clint.” Tony said, and Clint could not help but look up at the rare mention of his name. “I know that we don't talk, and you don't really say what happened to you – and I don't want to know, particularly, y'know, I'm not prying here – but if it helps...” He trailed off, for once unable to find words. He knew all too well what it was like to experience something no one else had; after Afghanistan, he would have given the world for someone to just listen to him without judgement and, all the more important, without pity.

 

“It all came flooding back.” Said Clint, picking up his last sentence after a large gulp of air. He couldn't explain exactly what was making him confide in Stark, in a man he didn't exactly hate but didn't exactly revere either, inside his ridiculously munificent living room which made him feel more out of place than he could ever imagine. Perhaps it was the implicit promise that Stark was not there to pity him, as he so often felt the others did. He took another deep breath and steeled himself. “All of it. How he would make me sit at his feet. How he would make me put my head in his lap.” His voice was shaking but something deep in his stomach pushed him to continue. “How he'd get me to _suck_ him _off_ while I was down there, how he'd _stop me_ , how he'd _push_ me onto the floor and _rape me_...” Clint took a shuddering breath, one lone tear falling to the floor. “How he'd _kiss me afterwards._ ”

 

Tony did nothing, said nothing, and it was all Clint needed – it had always been clear, what Loki had done to him, after SHIELD made him recount the whole sorry episode in violently graphic detail, and he had taken his fill of “I'm sorry”s and “that's awful”s. He had never spoken about it outside of that interview room but to do so now made him feel free, calm, validated as someone listened without interrupting with sympathy or pushing him for greater detail.

 

“Thank you.” Clint said, after they had sat in silence for a while.

 

“Don't mention it, kid.” Tony heaved himself forwards and gradually into a standing position, having grown stiff from sitting, his tone deliberately playing light of the service he had just done Clint to stop the atmosphere weighing heavy. “I'm thinking coffee. And I know, I know, decaf for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Two updates in one night?" I hear you cry "But that's unpossible!" Well, yes, but I had to write this whilst I was emotionally-primed for it. I'm posting it now because I'm going home over the weekend and will be most likely absent from this site whilst I'm there. Next update will come to you Wednesday time, if not before.


	13. The Apology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, a short update while I'm away. Regular, big updates will resume next week.

The mirror over the bathroom sink was huge, with an ornate gilt frame that even Asgard's most powerful and self-indulging might find a little much. Loki lent over the sink to examine his cheek again, the reds and blues flushing his finely chiselled cheekbone like a whore's rouge. Watching the bruise develop had become his new favourite past-time. It still stung, the sharp pain from a punch he feared might have shattered bone now turning into a dull ache which spread across his face and into his jaw. Being floored by their great green beast had nothing on this; his weakened mortal state, lacking any magical regeneration powers, did not take kindly to being hit. He winced as he gingerly pressed his fingers against the bruised skin, causing it to yellow.

 

There was another knock at the door and Loki turned his head sharply, looking towards the direction of the noise. He slipped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom in the two seconds it took Clint to open the door.

  
“Hey.” He said, stupidly, watching Loki watch him as if he were a mousetrap ready to spring. It wasn't fear colouring the god's features, that he might have been able to cope with, but rather a venomous readiness as if he were waiting for an excuse to pounce. “I came here to apologise.”

 

The shock of his sentence rippled out across Loki's face, starting from his suddenly-wide emerald eyes. It was gone almost as soon as it had appeared, but Clint knew what he had seen. The god had been thankful, almost relieved, at the fact Clint was acknowledging his wrong; it was a wrong, and being such it was unlikely to be a common event, for Clint was not that kind of man. Loki had seen his good nature, in his eyes whenever he pinned him down, and in his heart in the dead of night.

 

“I'm sorry.” Clint said, extending his hand. For a moment nothing happened. Loki looked suspiciously at the extended hand, then back at Clint, who's eyes, on fire, never left his for a moment. Loki looked back at Clint's hand and came to a decision. He tentatively extended his own.

 

For a split second everything happened at once; Clint grabbed Loki's hand, pulling it down and towards him with such force that Loki tripped, suddenly so close to Clint that he could hear him breathing. His cheek brushed Loki's bruised one, making it tingle, as he held Loki in place by his wrist and whispered into his ear: “Don't even think you control me any more. I am over you.”

 

Clint let go of where his hand was starting to burn Loki, carefully, deliberately stepping backwards away from him. He suddenly had gravitas, a presence in the room he had failed to command before, and Loki felt himself wanting to recoil from the new man in front of him. He mentally shook himself, letting his fists clench. He said nothing, his quick mind uncharacteristically empty except for the indignity and raw anger he felt.

 

“Well, then.” Clint said, the slightest of shrugs on his shoulders. “I guess that's all for now. Stay here until I come and get you.” And with that he was gone, as if he hadn't just threatened his charge, and not only his charge, someone with the command Loki had. Loki spent a while staring at the door Clint had left through, willing the tower to come crashing down around him, but instead the building remained standing and its inhabitants well and alive.

 

*

 

Loki slammed his fist into the wall, a burgeoning scream-come-snarl escaping from behind his bared teeth. He had lost the one thing that might have made his sentence bearable; his control over Clint, so total as it had been, had left some mark on the man, but now it was gone, he had claimed he was over it and Loki had seen in his face that he had not been lying. His hand stung like his face had done when he had been hit but he ignored it and hit the wall again, slamming his palm flat against its sickening magnolia surface. This was his cell. He was never to leave it unless on Barton's command, and why would the man ever let him leave? There was not one good reason why, now, he should want to spend any time around Loki at all. He had lost the one thing he had, and he hated the powerless position it put him in. He struck the wall again, another bitter cry ringing out across the vast, lonely room.

 

*

 

“Did you hear that?” Tony said, suddenly. Clint looked up from his second cup of coffee and listened.

 

“No, I -”

 

“Shh.” Tony held out his hand, listening also to the air in the Tower. “There. That.”

 

“Yeah, I hear that.” It was a dull thud, like someone punching a wall. _Loki_. “How thick are your walls?”

 

“He's not got his superhero powers, right?” Tony said, momentarily concerned.

 

“No, he's as weak as you or me.”

 

“Then he shouldn't be able to punch his way through the wall.” Tony shrugged. The walls of the Tower were all solid brick coated with plaster and stuffed with insulation to keep the noise levels down, and he doubted anything could rock them. Clint sat back, sipping his coffee.

 

“Then leave him. He'll only damage himself.”


	14. The Lion and The Mouse

Loki lay on his side, on the floor, hair pooling over his face so that his view of the room was obscured. He could not get up, and did not care enough to push his hair aside. There was nothing to see which he hadn't already seen enough of. His hip and shoulder stung as they pressed into the concrete floor, evident even though the luscious shag-pile carpeting. He could no longer feel the sting in his face where he had been hit but could see the bright purple of his usually pale cheek just out of the corner of his eye. He could not quantify how long he had been lying there. He had hit the wall one final time, hard enough to make something crunch in his hand, and had slid down the wall feeling nothing in that moment except for blinding pain, coming to be a heap on the floor. Now all he could feel of his hand was an occasional throb, whenever he tried to move it. He did not try to move it often. His mind was numb, his eyes glassy, as again and again he replayed the conversation with Barton in his head. _He was truly powerless now_. 

 

*

 

Coulson arrived back at Stark Tower shortly after lunch – which had been leftover Chinese food from the night before, Tony being many things but not a legendary cook – and Clint was glad to see him. Tony excused himself to go and load the dishwasher and make another round of coffee ( _did the man drink nothing else_ , Clint wondered), leaving Coulson standing in the doorway by the lift and Clint leaning over the back of the sofa to look at him.

 

“I stopped by your flat.” Said Coulson, stepping into the living room proper but not taking a seat. “But I guess you already went there, your stuff was gone.” 

 

“Yeah, I went there.” Clint looked at the floor, having to break Coulson's piercing gaze for a moment, before speaking again. “Look, I'm really sorry -”

 

“Don't be.” Said Coulson, his tone a little too formal. “You had every right to be upset.” 

 

“Yeah, well, it won't be happening again.” Clint stood up, since Coulson would not move closer, and stepped across the space between them. “I told him I'm over it. Over him. I'm done.” 

 

Coulson looked as though he had just been slapped across the face.

 

“So up until this point you _weren't_?” He said, and Clint fought the urge to take half a step backwards. 

 

“Don't be like that, I -”

 

“What even was there to get over, Clint?” He asked, carefully placing each word into the static that hung between them. “It's not like what you felt was real.”

  
“Stop it.” Clint growled, one hand subconsciously balling. “You know that's not fair. You know I tried to rationalise it but what I know and what I feel are two different things.”

 

“I'm hurt it took you this long to really be over it when you said you were long ago!” 

 

“Just becauseI _said_ I was over it after what SHIELD put me through -” Clint could feel his voice rising, his face growing hot. He stopped, took a breath, and started again. “Making me relive it all wasn't closure, it was like sticking a knife in a gunshot wound to fish the bullet out. Now I've told Loki exactly where we stand I feel so different. Like I can draw a line under it.” 

 

“You could have been more honest with me.” Coulson said, quietly, carefully, cutting Clint with each word. 

 

“I was as honest with you as I could have been.” Clint replied, voice low, eyes dropping to the floor like a sulking child. “Don't you see that?”

 

“I'm going to need time.” Was all Coulson said, before putting his hand on Clint's arm. “I'm sorry.” 

 

*

 

Loki pushed himself up to a sitting position, spider-like in his staccato movements, hair falling away from his sharp features as the door swung open. He did not even care that he must have looked a sorry state, crumpled on the floor like dirty laundry, for his pride had left with his sense of power. He looked up at Clint, who was standing in the doorway awkwardly as if he wasn't sure if he was invited in or not. 

  
“Tony's locked himself in his workshop.” Clint said, as if it were some kind of explanation of his presence. “I don't think I could really talk to him about this anyway – though why I can talk to you I don't know.” A wry half-smile appeared on his lips. Loki said nothing, unwilling to admit his confusion. Clint came in and shut the door, perching himself on the edge of Loki's bed, the silk sheets rumpling beneath him. In the end, curiosity got the better of Loki, and he lent forwards on his knees. 

 

“Talk to me about what?” He asked, green eyes suddenly bright. 

 

“Coulson said he needs time to process what's going on between me and you.” Clint stared intently out of the window as he spoke, still unwilling to meet Loki's gaze. Loki said nothing, the pain of his losing the power struggle all too fresh. He knew about Agent Coulson; Clint had told him about all of SHIELD but especially Coulson, how he felt compelled towards him and how the boundaries between personal and professional had been wavering between them such that, at times, they were hardly present. He understood how the agent would feel about his presence, as if they were in some bizarre competition between what Clint really felt for Coulson and what he had been conditioned to think about Loki. He knew Clint would be devastated by any rift between himself and his handler. He took some solace in that. “I think he'll come to accept it, to appreciate that it took this to make me accept what happened, but... I don't know. I don't think he'll ever really understand.” 

  
For the first time, Loki looked at Clint, really looked, took in every aspect of his being. The man was tired, worn down by the events of the past year, certainly, but there was also a contentedness which Loki had never seen or felt from him before. It was unsettling, that such a fundamental change might have happened in him so quickly. 

 

“You don't need him to understand.” Loki said, after some careful consideration. “I understand.” Clint let out a solitary bite of laughter.

 

“Of course _you_ understand.” He looked at Loki. “Don't try getting inside my head. It won't work any more.” 

 

“Do you really think -” Loki started, transferring his weight onto one knee and making an attempt to stand up; he put his weight on his damaged hand, without thinking, and fell back onto his knees with a curse. 

 

“What did you do this time?” Clint asked, equal parts frustrated and concerned as he dropped off the bed and onto his knees next to Loki. “No, don't answer that, we could hear you punching the wall.” Clint took Loki's hand in both of his, and with a gentleness Loki thought it would be now impossible for Clint to exhibit around him closely examined it. “You'd better pray that's not broken.” He mumbled under his breath as he ran his fingers down the length of Loki's hand, applying enough pressure to make the god hiss in pain. “Doesn't feel like it. Clench your fist for me.” Loki slowly drew his fingers towards his palm, teeth bared. Clint had been trained in basic first aid for his work out in the field, and he could tell the hand was not broken. “Stay there.” He instructed, heading into the bathroom. 

 

He returned with handfuls of cotton wool wrapping and gauze from the medicine cabinet. “You should be thankful Stark gets into as many scrapes as he does,” Clint said, positioning Loki's hand on his thigh to hold it still. “Else this stuff wouldn't just be lying around.” He wrapped Loki's hand in cotton wool to cushion it, then bound it with the gauze to keep it stable. Loki pressed his lips together, willing himself to stay silent against the pain that was shooting through his hand. “I think it's just badly bruised, but it probably wouldn't hurt to get a second opinion.” Loki withdrew his hand to his chest the minute Clint had finished binding it, looking up at him with narrow eyes. “Say thank you.” He said, as if he were talking to a rude child in his care. Loki looked down at his bandaged hand, then back up at Clint. 

 

“ _Thank you_.” He spat, venomous, recoiling back into himself as if he wanted to get as far away from the words leaving his mouth as possible without actually moving. Clint stood up and sat back on the bed. 

 

“Sit up here.” He instructed, motioning to the other side of the bed. Loki did as he was told, after a fashion, dragging himself up to standing as slowly and as deliberately as he could. He sat gingerly on the bed, expecting the worst. It never came. 

 

“I just don't want to be alone.” Clint said, after a while. “And you're the best I've got.” 

 


	15. The Realization

They sat together in silence for a long time, watching the bright afternoon turn into a grey and disappointing evening. At five o'clock it began to rain, large droplets hitting the window and making the light which shone through them speckled with their shadows. Loki seemed to draw more melancholy as time passed, hunching forwards over his injured hand and staring resolutely at the floor. Clint pretended like he hadn't noticed, instead looking at everything in the room besides the god next to him.

 

“You didn't eat.” He remarked, noticing the hot dog box left on the bedside table. Loki set his jaw and said nothing. “Doesn't matter. You'll have to eat, sooner or later.”

 

“You're not going to order me to do so?” Loki asked, attempting to sound indifferent and almost faltering.

 

“Not this time.” Loki said nothing yet the air between them changed; he was allowed autonomy over eating, some small vestige of freedom which meant everything. Clint looked at him and he quickly looked away. “You don't have to thank me.”

 

“I was not about to.” Said Loki, the smallest hint of colour marking his cheekbones. Clint did not argue with him, letting the silence once again govern the room. It was not an unbearable silence but neither was it comfortable, and Clint soon found reason to speak again.

 

“Tell me something,” He said, tone as conversational as he could keep it under the circumstances. He paused, wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, and started again. “Why did you do it?”

 

“They promised me _everything_.” Loki said, bitter, almost wistful, a darkness passing over his fine features as he turned his face away.

 

“I know why.” Clint said, quietly, replaying the many times Loki had told him all that he would receive; fortune, glory, power, anything he could wish for. He knew the terms and he knew why they would appeal to a person like Loki. He steadied his breath, spoke slowly. “I meant why did you do it to me?”

 

Loki looked at him, eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

  
“Why me? You had your pick of agents that day, faster, stronger agents than me, but it was me you chose to... to enslave. I want to know why.” Loki was silent, chewing over words in his mouth before finally deciding to speak just one of them.

 

“Circumstance.” He said, non-apologetically. “Chance.”

 

“All this time...” Clint laughed, a hollow, almost frightening sound. “All this time I thought there had to be a reason. There had to be a _good reason why_ you put _me_ through _Hell_...” He stopped, took a shaking breath, tried to steady himself before he continued but still his eyes grew cloudy. “And it could have been _anyone_?” He stood up, quickly, turning away from Loki so the god would not see him cry. He left the room briskly, leaving Loki in the silence.

 

*

 

When he heard the rain begin to pound on the roof Tony became desperately in need of a hot drink to keep the weather at bay. He left the robots in charge of the simulation – it was a simple enough task, they shouldn't be able to go too badly wrong, and he'd much rather leave them in charge of a computer than he would scalding water – to go on a search for hot chocolate.

 

“Hey, Cupid.” He started as he walked into the lounge, addressing the room regardless of whether or not Clint was there. “I was thinking we need something warm to -” He cut himself off, finally seeing Clint on the sofa, curled up into a ball at one end. For a moment Tony thought he was sleeping, but the shaking in his shoulders told him otherwise as he crossed the room to stand next to him. He dropped down onto his knees, not touching Clint. “Hey.” He said, quietly. The tears on Clint's face had dried but they had left salty track-marks down his cheeks. “Look, you really shouldn't suffer alone, you should have come and got me.”

 

“He said it could have been _anyone_.” Clint said, spitting the word as if it were poisonous.

 

“I'm sorry it was you.”

 

“You don't understand.” Clint pushed himself up to sitting, rubbing his hands over his face. “When I was... when I was under his control it felt like no one else in the world mattered to him but me. It made me feel so _special_. I've hated those feelings but part of me still wanted it to be true, for there to be a _reason_ why he did it to me. Now I know it meant _nothing_.”

 

“I can't say I understand.” Said Tony, an uncharacteristic gentleness in his voice. “But I know all those emotions must'a got mixed up in your head, and unscrambling them properly has got to be painful.” He put out a hand, carefully, and gave Clint's shoulder a quick squeeze. “It'll be alright. Eventually.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be snowed under with work for a few days so I thought I'd get an update to you when I could.
> 
> If this doesn't read right, or there are mistakes, please forgive me. I had to write it when I was in the right emotional space to do so and I didn't really want to read it back.


	16. The Breaking of Bread

Loki didn't accept any food for two days, stubbornly leaving it wherever Clint or Tony placed it in his room, not even touching the containers of the take-out food which was all Tony ever seemed to serve. He didn't even accept drinks; Clint was unduly concerned, fretting that the god would die on his watch yet completely refusing to command him to do otherwise, until Tony checked the CCTV he had installed in Loki's room to discover he was drinking from the sink in his bathroom.

 

“The _defiant little -_ ” Clint started, before censoring himself.

 

On the third day Tony took up breakfast to Loki, leftover pizza from the night before, and Loki did not even raise his head from where it rested on the pillow to look at him. He had to double-check he was still alive.

 

“You really need to do something about him.” Tony said to Clint, who sat hunched over a cup of herbal tea at the comparatively small breakfast table in Tony's kitchen, concern evident in his voice. Clint shrugged.

 

“Just give him time.”

 

*

 

Loki dragged himself up to sitting after he heard the door shut and the magnetic lock click into place. The food Stark had left smelt stale, greasy, and unappetising even though he knew he was slowly starving; it had been so long since he had eaten that he might as well have forgotten how, and the thought of putting anything in his mouth made his stomach turn. He knew that it was hunger, causing his insides to twist, but he would not allow himself to eat. He didn't want to give up that control, not yet, not when he had Barton in such a delicate position. He had to play it carefully, he thought, as he heaved himself up and took a stumbling step towards the bathroom. His hair had grown lifeless without regular meals but he would wash it anyway.

 

*

 

At some point in the early afternoon – he had not been paying attention to the passage of the sun across the sky as he had been too busy lying in bed with his head hidden under the covers – he heard the lock on his door click open. He opened his eyes, expecting a visitor, but no one came in. The door did not open. Was there a fault with the automaton which ran Stark Tower? Like a cat, curiosity got the better of him and he dragged his fully-clothed self out of bed, running a hand through his damp hair to flatten it down. He didn't have shoes, at some point his boots had been confiscated, though he could not remember when, so he padded barefoot towards the unlocked door.

 

It swung open freely as he gingerly pressed the handle and he almost jumped backwards in surprise; he had been expecting the lock clicking to be merely a figment of his starved imagination. Suddenly his mouth was dry as he stood in the doorway considering the hall in front of him. He was disobeying a direct order to stay in his room, and all the sense he had was pushing for him to go back in his room lest he receive another punch across the face. _But this is what you've been waiting for_ , said the devil on his shoulder, as he cautiously put one foot outside of his room. _A chance to show them all who's really in control here_. His other foot joined the first and suddenly he felt as if he could breathe freely, the air in his room having grown as stale, stifling.

 

There was a breeze coming through the hallway from a vent on one end, and on that breeze was the scent of something delectable, delicious; roasting meat and fresh breads which reminded him of home. He could not tell where the smells were coming from, for there was no room on the other side of the vent, so he began to retrace the steps he had taken when he had first been brought to the tower.

 

*

 

Clint had suggested they actually go out and buy fresh food, but Tony had declined, instead pulling a laptop out from underneath the sofa and opening it on his knees. Apparently you could order anything on the internet these days, and Clint watched with fascination as Tony put in orders to several top-of-the-line butchers, delicatessens, and grocers; there was no supermarket web-page in sight. Tony was not shy about being able to afford the best and even began surfing with an air of superiority until Clint called him out on it. Within half an hour (such quick service was also something Clint was unaware existed on the internet) they had everything they needed to prepare a feast for their lunch.

 

Although he was a whiz online, Tony could barely find his way around the oven, staring at all its knobs and dials with an engineer's curiosity which made Clint step in and take over. After a fashion – like everything else Tony owned his oven was far more expensive and sophisticated than Clint's – they had the joint of roast pork in the oven and Tony had even fathomed how the bread-maker worked. Clint set to chopping potatoes whilst Tony played with an automated vegetable chopper he confessed to forgetting he owned. Soon enough the Tower's penthouse was full of the smells of fresh, homemade cooking and baking, and Clint asked if Tony would unlock the door to Loki's room. With a smile on his face, Tony obliged.

 

*

 

The penthouse was like a labyrinth, and behind every door seemed to be some new extravagance that Loki had previously thought beyond the grasp of Midgard. One room had nothing in it but a giant fish-tank, the exotic creatures floundering when their peacefulness was disturbed by Loki entering the room. For a while he was lost, opening every door he came across until he found a room he recognised. The main living area of Stark's accommodation was even more imposing when the man himself was not present; it carried the ghost of him, and Loki felt under his watch even though the room was empty. It reminded him of everything he was doing wrong just by being out of his room, and the lesser man in him wanted to turn back. He took gentle steps forward, making as least noise as possible, until he reached one of the many doors in the room. Here the smell was strongest, and behind it must be the kitchen. He could hear voices on the other side of it and his breath caught in his throat as he battled with his fight-or-flight response. Before he could make up his mind, the door swung open.

 

*

 

“Hey!” Tony said, as if he weren't really surprised to see Loki standing on the threshold of his kitchen. “Come in. Like, _now._ ” He added, after Loki didn't move. “Sit there.” Loki obeyed, surprised that he hadn't been chastised for leaving his room, and sat at one side of the intimately small kitchen table. Clint was sat opposite him, and between them was a vast array of food – sausages, olives, fresh bread, wine in a cut-glass pitcher. There were china bowls full to the brim of steaming vegetables, and a huge pile of mashed potatoes. There was a gap in the middle of the table, into which Tony placed a large, sizzling joint of pork with crackling. Loki's stomach gave an unwelcome lurch.

 

“You don't have to do anything.” Clint said, eyes holding Loki's with an uncomfortable intensity. “But we're going to eat. And you're going to have to sit there.”

 

*

 

Loki's resolve lasted about twice as long as Clint thought it might, and infinitesimally less than Loki would have liked; he started slowly, cautiously helping himself to a slice of pork as if the pig might come back to life and bite his hand off, then it was unstoppable, a tidal wave of hunger taking over him such that he could not stop himself from sampling every single delight on the table. Clint looked over at Tony who grinned back at him, mouth full of food. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm going away again guys. If I can write an update on the train you'll get one over the weekend, else I'll see you next week.


	17. The Reading Rooms

After lunch Clint made a unilateral decision to relax the rules by which Loki had to live; he had been surprised by how small and defeated the god had become, and he decided it could do no favours for someone with a mind like Loki's to have too much free time with which to consider his options. He pulled Tony aside and asked him about his security.

  
“JARVIS takes care of all that.” Tony said, waving the question away with a hand. “I'll have a word with him about where we want and don't want our God of Mischief to go, and he'll take care of it.” Clint was dubious, not really understanding how the computer behind Tony's home worked, but believed him enough to sit back down opposite Loki with a fresh set of privileges for him.

 

“Your door will be unlocked from nine in the morning until nine at night. You don't have to leave your room, but if you do make sure you're back by nine else you'll be sleeping in the hall.” Clint wanted to smile at the thought but managed to control himself. Loki was looking at him with some suspicion, and the last thing he wanted to do was convince the god that this was all some elaborate trick designed to catch him out. What he wanted was a workable relationship, something that didn't scare him or restrict him, and Loki distrusting him would not help that. “You can eat with us, at two and at seven.” He still could not help his orders sounding mechanical as he spoke again. “During those times you're free to enter any room which is unlocked. If you attempt to go into any room you're not meant to, JARVIS will lock the door and tell you that you're not meant to be there. Don't try and get around this, it won't work.” Loki nodded, slowly, considering the information he had been given as the shade of his eyes turned from one of suspicion to one of acceptance.

 

“Alright.” He said, folding the long fingers of his hands and placing them in his lap. “I realise this is not the place to bargain or demand, but I would like access to reading material.”

 

“I'll make sure the library is unlocked for you.” Clint said, instantly deciding the request was a reasonable one. They had to keep Loki entertained, he reasoned, lest he have too much time alone to start scheming, and access to Tony's well-stocked reading rooms seemed like a reasonable way of achieving that.

 

“Thank you.” Loki said, quietly, and not without effort. He didn't meet Clint's eyes as he spoke but he didn't need to; Clint smiled, feeling instantly better for having done the god a favour. He could have been petty, refusing Loki access to something which would make his existence on Earth a little less miserable, but that wasn't like him.

 

“Don't worry about it.” He said, brushing away the gratitude so as not to linger in the strangeness of the situation.

 

*

 

Tony's reading rooms were not so much rooms as they were a wing of the penthouse, sprawling for what seemed like miles of packed, dense, and close dark wooden shelves. It was unlike the rest of the penthouse suite, which was white and clean and modern; the library was dark, the lights low and comforting, the mahogany of the shelves absorbing what little light there was to create passages of musty darkness. It was as if the whole library had been taken out of an ancient manor home and attached to the outside of Stark Tower, and Loki adored it the minute he had shut the door behind himself and had become absorbed in the quietness. The walls were padded, studded leather, to keep the noise of the outside world outside, and as Loki ran his hand along one of the few walls which didn't have a shelf nailed to it he suddenly felt as if he were back in Asgard, wallowing in the solace of one of the palace's great libraries in which he had spent most of his life. This was where he felt at home, surrounded by books, possessions of the learned man, where he could be at one with the knowledge they contained.

 

Barton had, along with his new timetable, given Loki a watch so that he could know when it was time to eat and when it was time for him to scurry back to his quarters to avoid being locked out all night. He checked his watch; three o'clock. He had four hours to try and orientate himself in the library; he expected he would have about half of his work done by the time it was seven and he was expected back for dinner.

 

He wandered up and down the shelves, picking the most logical path he could as he examined the topic of the books on each shelf. A lot of them he couldn't even pretend to understand, books about Midgardian history or antiquity that meant little to him but he knew he would read nonetheless. They seemed to be ordered by time and slowly things began to make a little more sense to him, Vikings and Celts and the Norse mythos, before he was again plunged into academic darkness by the events that followed.

 

After history there were books on every subject imaginable, ordered alphabetically and starting with Midgardian art. Again he walked up and down the shelves, examining the subjects and occasionally pulling a book from the shelf to examine its cover, before he came to the one part of the library which looked as if it had been touched this century.

 

Starting at E for “Engineering (mechanical)” books had been pulled off the shelves and pushed back on with little regard for their original order. There was a little nest, with a beanbag and blankets and used, mouldy coffee cups, which was surrounded by books on every topic from the history of automatons to particle physics ( _whatever that might be_ , he thought, making a mental note to check for remedial guides before diving right into whatever Stark had been reading). They were organised into rough piles, others were laid open with their spines cracked, one even had a page missing. Loki sighed in exasperation, before making another mental note to ask Stark whether or not he was done with these books so they could be put back in their proper place.

 

At the back right-hand corner of the library was another haven, with comfortable-looking leather chairs and a small mahogany coffee table, its surface inlaid with mother of pearl. Here there was a layer of dust on everything, almost as if Stark had never been back here in all the time that the tower stood, and Loki brushed the dust off the seat closest to the large, single-pane of glass which formed one of the room's only windows. He curled himself up on the seat, content to be alone in the presence of the books, and looked out over New York as the city bustled about its business, completely oblivious to his presence. It was peaceful, in a way, but it was also damnable in its loneliness. As he watched the sun grow low in the sky, casting long shadows deep into the library, he looked again at his watch – five o'clock. He decided he would spend the two hours he had gathering the books which most deeply interested him, revisiting those with the covers and blurbs he had found most intriguing.

 

*

 

“You're relaxed.” Said Tony as he entered the room, covered in grease as he had just come from his workshop. Clint was reclined on the sofa, lazily flicking through channels on Tony's massive television set.

 

“You noticed.” He replied, sitting up and sliding over so that Tony could sit at the other end of the sofa. The man seemed unconcerned that he was putting grease-marks everywhere he went and sat down on the expensive settee.

 

“You've just been so tense since you got here. It's a nice change.” Tony shrugged, picking up his laptop from the coffee table and perching it on his knees.

 

“Yeah. I figured I have to stop worrying about what's beyond my control and just work with it.” Clint settled on a channel but the sound was turned down enough for them to comfortably talk over it.

 

“Good philosophy.” Tony tapped out a few lines on his keyboard. “So you're feeling better about him being around, huh?”

 

“I'm still not happy with it, by no means.” Clint sighed, letting his shoulders drop. “But it is what it is, y'know? Like Coulson said, I just have to do my best and hope the situation takes care of itself.”

 

“That's why you're letting him the reading rooms, then. To keep him busy.”

 

“You saw through that then. Which means he definitely did.” Clint bit his lip and turned his praying eyes skyward.

 

“I wouldn't worry about it.” Tony said, keyboard clicking away under his fast fingers. “He just seemed to be happy to see something that _wasn't_ his room.”

 

“Yeah.” Clint said, turning his face back to the television. “Let's hope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will resume after the long weekend, guys. Have a good one!


	18. The Reconciliation

Seven days passed slowly. The time weighed heavy, and it began to sink in for Clint that his life as he had known it had been changed forever. He wondered if he would ever go on another mission, or if he would be forever stuck in Tony's tower, babysitting a god who had done him so much personal harm it was innumerable. He looked at the clock, as he did many times during the day, and watched a few minutes tick past.

 

His days played out with monotonous predictability; a run in the early morning, before New York was fully awake, a cold shower and breakfast, time in Tony's personal gym followed by a hot shower. Then his day stretched in front of him, never-ending, occasionally broken up by exchanging quips with Tony over coffee or by asking JARVIS if Loki was keeping himself out of trouble. He longed for a change of scenery, for a change of air, but instead he wandered the halls of the Tower growing ever more morose.

 

On the eighth day the doorbell rang as he was laying on the sofa, and JARVIS answered it before he could sit up. When he heard who it was, he managed to sit bolt upright within a second. He even managed to make it to his feet and smooth his hair before the doors to the lift slid open and Coulson stepped out into the living room.

  
“Hey.” He said, a little stupidly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

 

“Hey.” Coulson crossed the room with short, efficient footsteps, until almost too soon he was standing in front of Clint. Clint could not remember the last time he had gone this long without so much as speaking to his handler; he still smelt the same, good, familiar, and Clint bit his tongue to stop himself blurting out that he was sorry. He knew it was not his fault and the apology should come from Coulson, but his brain found it hard to tell his mouth that. He chewed his tongue and did not meet Coulson's gaze as the agent put his hands in his pockets and considered him for a moment.

 

“I should have been more honest with you.” Clint said, unable to stop himself. “I'm sorry.”

 

“Clint, don't be. Please.” Coulson took his hands back out of his pockets, unsure how to stand, instead letting his arms fall, defeated, at his sides. “I'm the one who should be sorry. I should have been more understanding, and if you're ready to move on then I fully support you.”

 

“Thank you.” Clint said, quietly. “I know that I'm not faultless in this, but thank you.”

 

“Oh, Clint.” Coulson put his hands on Clint's shoulders, gently pulling his agent closer. “Of course you're faultless.” He wrapped his arms tightly around him and Clint hid his face in Coulson's neck, returning the embrace. “What he did to you was unspeakable, and from now on I promise I'll be more understanding.”

 

“Thank you.” Said Clint, holding onto his handler as if he feared the man might disappear. “Because I could use it.”

 

*

 

Clint made them both tea before sitting next to Coulson on the sofa and resting his head on his shoulder. “It's been... rough.” He muttered, handing Coulson one of the mugs.

 

“I know.” Coulson said, taking the tea with one had and using his free one to rub Clint's back. “Tell me what's bothering you.”

 

“It's become so... normal. Having him here. It's almost like we're _friends_.” The words felt strange in his mouth as he spoke them, knowing they would sound even stranger out loud. And it was strange, there was no getting around it; he still felt comfortable in Loki's presence, still felt as if he were safe even though his sense told him better.

 

“I see.” Coulson said, simply, not wanting to push his opinions either way. If he were honest he would prefer Clint spend as little time around Loki as possible, for it couldn't be good for his health and besides it made Coulson feel bitter, but he could not stop Clint dealing with the situation as he felt best. “And that's troubling you.”  
  
“Yeah.” Clint sipped his drink, relaxing against his handler totally, and only now he noticed he had been unable to truly relax since Coulson walked out. “Like, the better half of me wants to murder him. The other half... I want a workable relationship with him. I want to be in the same room as him and not feel tense. But I'm worried being so relaxed around him will...”

 

“Will let him get the better of you again.” Coulson said, finishing the sentence for Clint as gently and as tactfully as he could. “I understand.” They sat in silence for a while, sipping their drinks, Clint wrapping his arm around that of his handler as he rest against his shoulder, in danger of falling asleep. “I wish I had some advice for you.” Coulson said, eventually, sad to break the perfect silence between them.

 

“I know.” Clint looked up at him, tired eyes bright. “But this is a new situation for everyone, right? I can't expect you to have anything to say.” Coulson wrapped his arms tightly around his agent and pulled him close.

 

“Just do as you feel is right, Clint.”


	19. The Shock of Familiarity

Tony was a modern man, in every sense of the word, and he could technically do all of his work using only the holographic interface, but he was also nostalgic at heart, and when it came down to hardcore coding still preferred the feel of a keyboard under his fingertips, preferred the sound of the keys clacking as he furiously typed. He preferred a monitor for this task too, or several, and at present count he had six; three at eye-height, which surrounded him like a starlet's mirrors, upon which he worked, one off to the left which was open to his coding mix in iTunes, and two above him, both of which showed the CCTV footage from around the tower. One screen was split into four, showing various dull scenes playing out; the other was not split at all and showed a constant stream of footage coming from the library. He always had one screen open to Loki, holographic or otherwise, to keep his eye on the mischief god who had unbridled access to a larger portion of his tower than he would have liked. It was this screen he watched now, lazily reclining in his chair as his code compiled, booted feet on the desk in front of him.

 

He was beautiful, almost painfully so, his sharp features casting playful shadows over his finely sculpted face as he sat curled in one of Tony's father's armchairs. His hair, full of life once more, sat comfortably around his face, framing it and causing a stark contrast between the pale of his skin and the deep black of his hair, like Snow White. Tony watched as his long fingers turned the page of the thick, heavy book balanced in his lap, first hesitant as they waited for his sharp green eyes to finish the last sentence before his tongue darted out to wet his fingertips so they could better grip the page. Tony wondered why they called him 'Silvertongue'.

 

_Woah, no, stop right there_ . Tony snapped himself upright and pushed his chair away from the screens. He needed a break, that was all, just needed to get away from those screens and that room, because if Loki was becoming a pleasant distraction something had gone horribly, terribly wrong. He paced once around the desk before deciding he needed to leave the room altogether. He loved Pepper, so much it hurt, and it had been hard to even notice anyone else since being with her; he didn't need to start noticing  _that_ person. He gave himself a mental shake. 

 

*

 

Coulson had to leave in a hurry, official SHIELD business, but he kissed Clint goodbye twice before he left – once on the forehead and once on the cheek – and Clint was left glowing. He felt as if he could skip, although he judged otherwise due to the large amounts of CCTV Tony had in his tower, but he could not wipe the grin from his face. He felt a little more whole, a little more complete again now that he had his handler back, and he felt like he could tackle anything that his present situation might offer.

 

*

 

Pepper stepped out of her car and onto the pavement out the front of Stark Industries. JARVIS already had the door open for her and the lift was waiting; she stepped in and it took her straight up to the penthouse. She had been gone for two weeks, business negotiations in Europe, and she was glad to be home. But even through her sense of relief to be back within the familiar walls of the Tower, she could tell something was not as it should be.

 

Her suspicions were confirmed when she stepped out into the living room of the penthouse to find not only Tony sprawled across the sofa in his usual spot, but also Agent Barton (who had found a way to perch in one of the plush armchairs in such a way that would have been desperately uncomfortable for anyone else).

 

“Oh hey Pepper.” Tony said, acting as if he wasn't pleased to see her when she knew deep down he would be jumping for joy. 

 

“Hey, Tony. Agent Barton.” She nodded at Clint with her polite if reserved smile. 

 

“Ms. Potts.” Clint replied, returning the polite smile. For a moment Pepper stood there in stunned silence, and when Tony offered no explanation she decided she had to ask.

 

“Not to be rude, Agent Barton, but what exactly are you doing here?” She asked, putting down her briefcase next to the sofa and standing over Tony, one hand absent-mindedly playing with his hair. 

 

“Do you want to tell her, or should I?” Clint looked at Tony, who looked back at him then up at Pepper. 

 

“Oh, no, what did you do?” Pepper said, with the tone of a woman who was tired of having to ask. Tony looked at her, mock sadness in her eyes.

 

“Why do you always assume it's me?” Pepper said nothing, only raising an eyebrow in response. “Okay, okay, I know why. But this time it's not me.” He said, mildly smug. Pepper looked first skeptical then quizzical, and when Tony said nothing she looked up at Clint.

 

“Agent Barton?”

 

Clint took a deep breath and began to explain.

 

*

 

Pepper listened in silence to the whole explanation, her expression growing ever greyer. When Clint was finished she swallowed, once, opened her mouth to say something, wet her lips then started again.

 

“So now Loki lives with us.” Clint nodded, and Pepper took a moment to process the information. “Until his debt to society has been repaid.” Clint nodded again, and again Pepper paused to think. “Why here?” She asked, finally.

 

“Stark Industries has some of the best security in the world. I figured if there was ever a better place to keep a prisoner, I didn't know it.” Clint spread his hands in apology, the slightest of shrugs on his shoulders. “My place is too small and not secure. And I can't hand him over to SHIELD, as you know.” 

 

“I know...” She said, dropping her shoulders in defeat. “Okay, so he stays here, with us. And you, Agent Barton, obviously. You're welcome to stay as long as is necessary.” 

 

“Thank you, Ms Potts.”

 

“Oh, stop that.” She smiled. “Pepper, please.” Clint nodded, smiling bashfully. “So where is Loki now?”

 

“In the library.” Tony said, a little too quickly. “Do you want me to call him so you can slap him? Apparently Agent Romanoff already had a go and it sounds kinda fun -”

  
“No, thank you.” She cut Tony off sharply, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Just... leave him where he is. Where he's not doing any damage and where he's not near me.” She shuddered, subconsciously, before walking around the sofa and slipping out of her heels. Tony slid along the sofa to make room for her.

 

“You'll get used to it.” Tony said, putting his arm around her and kissing her cheek. “We have.”

  
“I guess...” She let Tony pull her closer, feeling a little embarrassed by his sudden shower of affection. “Just not yet. I need time.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first paragraphs of this go out to Limmet and the beautiful fic which inspired this one. Plus I needed to get all that sexy description out my system, hot damn.


	20. The Viper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DOUBLE-UPDATE DAY. It damn near killed me but here it is - again, I had to be in the right emotional space to write and post this, and that happened to be tonight - the second update of the day.

Tony had been drinking all day. He had woken up in a bad mood, and Pepper hadn't been around to save him from himself so he quickly found himself a bottle and a half of whiskey down. The Tower was a lonely place, perhaps even more so now that it had inhabitants that he was on strange terms with, and he found it almost unbearable. He poured himself yet another glass and sat back in his seat.

 

“JARVIS, show me Loki.”

 

“As you wish, sir.” The computer answered, a tired tone in its voice. “And sir, might I remind you that your blood alcohol level -”

 

“No, you may not remind me.” Tony said, downing the glass in one. He had got used to the burning in his throat.

 

There was something so captivating about the god; so beautiful and serene yet burning with a power Tony found so enticing. He had had feelings for men before, loved the blind physicality of it, but with Loki there was something different, something he couldn't put his finger on. It was almost the same feeling he got when looking at Pepper, but with something desperate, something raw, something he had to experience.

 

*

 

“You have to do anything I say, right?” He asked, a look of uncertainty on his face like he desperately hoped the answer would be negative but that he already knew otherwise. Loki slowly looked up at him, already feeling something was not right, like a mouse who has sensed a lion in the room.

  
“Yes, that is true.” He said, slowly, warily, wondering if he should just lie and say that he didn't have to obey the frankly frightening man standing in front of him.

 

“Come here.” Tony beckoned with his hand and Loki did as he was told, standing up and stepping across the distance between them. He overshadowed Tony, who's stature was tiny by comparison, but he did not feel big; he bowed his head and balled his hands into fists, bracing himself for the worst.

 

“Kiss me.” He said, slowly, each word falling from his mouth like a lead weight hanging heavy in the silence between them. The only change in Loki's face was a widening of his scared green eyes as he stood perfectly still, considering the instruction he had just been given. He swallowed and took one, deep breath.

 

This close Tony smelt like burnt oil, whiskey, expensive cologne; his stubble was sharp and his breath hot against Loki's skin as he carefully placed a kiss against the corner of Tony's mouth, his stomach twisting as he struggled to keep his breathing steady and his feet firm. He did not linger, taking half a step backwards the minute his lips had left those of the man in front of him. Tony closed the space between them, taking Loki's face firmly between his rough hands. For a moment he considered the god, looking everywhere but his fear-filled eyes, before kissing him brusquely on his soft lips. Loki felt the floor fall away from him and he longed to go with it, to be free of Tony's grip so he could turn his face away, but instead he stayed still, feeling the other man's breath on his skin, the unforgiving hands on his cheeks, the sickness in his stomach which threatened to boil over.

 

*

 

There was no spark, no moment of clarity and no heat in the pit of his stomach. It didn't feel good, it didn't feel right, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he had had to ask; Loki was beautiful, yes, but there was no fire, no electricity. He let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding, and gently let Loki go.

 

“I just had to... check.” Was all he said in explanation. Loki stood still, bottom lip beginning to quiver, and dropped his head so that his hair fell over his darkening features. “Don't tell Clint about this, okay?” Loki could not speak so instead just shook his head to state that he would stay silent.

 

*

 

Loki watched Tony leave, heard the door slam shut behind him and felt the silence of the library pressing down all around him. He put his hand over his mouth to stop himself from screaming, and burning hot tears began to spill down his cheeks.

 


	21. The Sparrow and The Hawk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: the relationships and social interactions portrayed here are in no way healthy. I do not seek to glamourize them.

Clint was reclined on his bed, lazily flicking through a trashy spy novel, when there was a tentative knock at his door.

 

“Come in.” He called, swinging his legs off the bed and standing up with a stretch. A heartbeat passed before the door swung inward, revealing Loki standing on the other side of it. “What do you want?” He said, his tone concerned but not too much so, surprised but not shocked.

 

“I need to speak with you.” Said Loki, voice low, eyes unable to meet Clint's as he stood, small in the doorway like a footnote of a person. Clint looked at him, eyed him with suspicion at first – why should Loki want to speak to him? What could he possibly have to say? - but soon that suspicion turned into something else, as he realised something must have gone wrong. “Might I come in?” The question was barely audible but Clint heard it loud and clear, and he beckoned Loki in with a wave of his hand. Once the door was shut behind him Loki stood a little firmer, but still looked pale, frightened, like a strong breeze might topple him. It was uncharacteristic, and it made the skin on the back of Clint's neck prickle.

 

“What is it?” Clint asked, quietly, not sure what to expect from the coming conversation yet still dreading it as he sat down at the foot of the bed, motioning for Loki to sit down next to him. The god hesitated, like a deer in headlights, before taking the small step needed to close the distance between himself and Clint. He sat down as far away from him as possible, keeping his head low so his long hair covered his hollow face.

 

“I know why you sit like that.” He said, brushing a curtain of hair aside only to have it fall back in front of his face. He did it again and again, a nervous response, until Clint gently put a hand on his wrist to stop him. He froze at the touch, eyes like steel, so Clint let him go.

 

“Like what?” He asked, as gently as he could. He folded his hands in his lap, as much as he wanted to reach out and put a comforting hand on Loki's shoulder he couldn't bring himself to do it; that was something he would have done under control.

 

“Like a bird with clipped wings. You're scared, and you're alone, and now I know why.” Loki looked at him for the first time since entering the room, green eyes watery and bottom lip shaking. “And I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry.” 

 

Clint grit his teeth and set his jaw, taking a moment to let the words sink in. He had dreamt of hearing them, thought that an apology, a recognition of what he had done was wrong, and it would all be over; it wasn't, if anything it hurt more now those wounds had been reopened. He did not care what had caused Loki's change of heart, he was only angry that it had come at all. It was one thing to live with the man who had taken you apart, piece by painful piece, it was another to have him repentant. He swallowed down that anger before trying to speak.

 

“I want you to know that this in no way absolves you.” He said, words measured and tone as level as he could keep it. “What you did to me still happened, and I will not forget it. But...” He found himself saying before he had time to decide otherwise. He sighed and continued. “But thank you.” He said quietly. “Now tell me what brought all this on. I have to know.” 

 

“Stark...” Was all he could manage, before he turned his face away. Clint was overwhelmed by equal urges to thank and to throttle Tony, because whatever he had done to bring the matter to Loki's attention it could not have been good. Loki shook his head, not wanting to say any more. 

 

“Okay, okay.” Clint said, clasping his hands tightly together then breaking them apart, coming to a decision. He reached out across the space between them and put a hand on Loki's shoulder; he froze, momentarily, but it was gone as soon as it had come over him. He gave the god's shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You don't need to tell me.” 

 

“Thank you.” Loki said, without looking up. 

 

“But I know something is wrong, and we'll fix it.” Clint shifted closer to Loki and the god let him, before sliding an arm around his shoulders. “We'll fix it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had a LOT of trouble writing this chapter and the previous one; screwing with trust and power is hard for me, but I feel I had to do it to tell the story as best I saw it. Like I said previously, these sorts of relationships are not healthy. If you're in a relationship which in any way mirrors one in this fic, I strongly urge you to consider getting out whilst you can.


	22. The Sound of Thunder

Clint and Loki sat together for a long time, a parody of what they once were, a sick tableaux at the end of the bed. It struck Clint how comfortable he was, how easy it was even after everything to sit touching the god, his arm around his shoulders and their bodies pressed together. He didn't move, as much as the voice inside him was screaming _get away_. 

 

“I was told not to say anything to you.” Loki said, after they had sat together through an almost unendurably long silence. 

 

“Don't worry about that.” Clint pulled Loki momentarily closer, constantly battling with himself over how much affection he should show. Loki was shaken, already on the back-foot and in no position to take advantage of any warmth Clint showed, but still he was careful. “No one's going to hurt you just because you said something.” Something seemed to click in Loki's head and he sat up straighter, pulling away from Clint just a little bit. Clint let his arm slide down his back before withdrawing it completely. 

 

“Thank you.” In a split second it was over and Clint wanted to believe it hadn't happened; Loki kissed him, once, on the cheek. He could feel his heart start to race, his hands grow cold, the familiar burning in his chest where the staff had once pierced him; it was nothing, he told himself, an Asgardian show of gratitude, but it was _there_. 

 

“D-don't mention it.” Clint mumbled, looking away, withdrawing into himself as he wished he were alone. He didn't know if he had seen the glint in Loki's eye, the slightest of smirks on his lips, but he couldn't help but feel that they, too, were there, that this was the beginning of the end. Loki stood up, a hand briefly touching Clint's shoulder. He said nothing more before he left, leaving Clint alone with his dark and terrible thoughts. 

 

*

 

An hour later, after pacing his room continually, Clint rang Coulson. The first time the phone rang and rang, the second time he reached Coulson's answering machine. He didn't leave a message. 

 

The other person he could have turned to, Tony Stark, was already caught up in this situation somehow, and Clint could hardly approach him when he knew not his involvement. He stopped by his bedroom's window and looked out across New York. There was one other person he could contact.

 

He sat back down on his bed and pulled the tablet SHIELD had given him as standard issue out of the bedside table. He called up the SHIELD database, or what little of it he had access to, and checked Thor's record. He was in town, or on Earth at least. Attached to the file was the number for Jane Foster, who he would undoubtedly be staying with. Clint picked up his phone and tried that number next. 

 

*

 

Thor had, eventually, adjusted to even the hyper-modern lifestyle at Stark Tower, and had no problem navigating JARVIS' interface or the lift in order to reach the penthouse. Clint was waiting impatiently for him on the other side of the elevator doors. He ushered Thor in and led him through the catacomb-like tower to his room. 

 

“Excuse the secrecy,” Clint said, when Thor asked where Stark was. “But I need to talk to you in private.” 

 

“If this is not official SHIELD business,” Said Thor, putting two and two together, “Then it must be about Loki.” His face was stony and his jaw set. “I can only begin to offer my sincerest apologies, for anything he might have -”

 

“He hasn't done anything.” Clint cut across Thor, and the god was surprised. His face changed immediately, shadowed with concern. “Then what is it?” 

 

“Something...” Clint hesitated, unsure how to put it. “Something happened to him. And I think he needs you.” Thor began to scoff at the idea but Clint cut across him again. “Please, just talk to him. You know that... that I can't.” Thor nodded; the gruesome detail of what his brother had done still played on his mind, and he had been horrified at Asgard's decision to inflict Loki on Clint. Still he had one thing he had to raise before he agreed.

 

“You realise this could all be some elaborate trick of my brother's?” He asked, carefully, not wishing to force the situation.

 

“It's not. As much as I don't want it, I know him better than anyone, even better than you. And he was... he was scared. Just talk to him, please?”

 

*

 

Loki had stopped visiting the Stark reading annex; he left his room only when he had to, and even then it was difficult. When there was a knock at his door he considered feigning sleep so he would not have to answer it. 

  
“Loki?” Clint called through the door, knocking again. “It's me, and I have someone here to talk to you.” Loki sighed and lowered his eyes to the floor, not wishing to look at anyone, as he opened the door. 

 

“Brother.” Thor addressed him, a little bit too formal, a little bit too stilted, as he stood on the opposite side of the door. For a moment Loki considered slamming it in his face, for his brother was possibly the last person he wanted to see or wanted to see him, but something made him keep it open. He stepped aside, allowing Thor in. 

 

“Brother dearest.” He sneered, all show, attempting to hide the hollowness inside his stomach that had been present ever since Stark had made him kiss him. Clint told them he'd be waiting in his room when they were finished talking and shut the door, leaving them standing in cold silence. 

 

*

 

The minute the door was shut Thor gathered him up in his massive arms and pulled him into a crushing, all-consuming embrace. “What you did was unforgivable.” He said, voice low, right next to Loki's ear so there was no chance of mishearing him. “But you're my brother, and I still love you.” 

 

“I suppose you're here to find out what happened, then.” Loki said, hesitating just a moment before wrapping his arms around his brother's broad back. He smelt like home, warm and familiar, and Loki suddenly realised how much he had missed him, despite not wanting to. 

 

“I understand something happened between you and Tony Stark.” Thor let go of Loki, letting his brother take a step back to breathe in his own space, to speak in his own time. Loki said nothing, his lips pursed, and only nodded his head in response. He couldn't meet Thor's eye. “Brother, whatever it is you can say to me; do not fear to speak ill of him because of your position.” Loki nodded again, showing he understood, before wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue. 

 

“He made me kiss him.” He said, voice shaking, fists clenched, a solitary tear falling from his cheek to the floor. He hurriedly wiped at his eyes, attempting to gather himself and restore his cool mask, but that only made more tears come and he hated himself for it. He turned his back to Thor so he would not see him cry over something so petty in comparison to his crimes. Thor put a hand on Loki's shoulder and gently turned him around, bringing him into a much more gentle embrace than the one previously; he held him close but not tight, bringing his forehead to rest on his shoulder as he stroked his dark hair. Loki did not return the embrace but he did not need to; Thor continued to hold him until his shaking subsided and his sobs became dry. 

 

*

 

Thor walked back to Clint's room alone – Loki still refused to leave his own room – and knocked sharply on the door. Clint answered it quickly and stepped aside to let him in, closing the door quickly behind him. Clint stood waiting in silence for Thor to speak, not wanting to force and answer out of him but desperately wanting to know what had happened. 

 

“Stark abused his power over Loki, to make Loki kiss him.” Thor said, tone neutral but with something dangerous simmering behind it. Clint nodded, slowly, absorbing the information. 

 

“I see why he was so shaken.” Clint said, eventually, for he did understand all too well what Loki must have been feeling. 

 

“You have to promise me something like this will not happen again.” Thor's voice was low, dangerous, as he took a step forward, his huge stature overshadowing Clint. 

 

“It won't.” Clint said, setting his jaw and deciding what he must do. “I guarantee.” 

 


	23. The Deceit

"I didn't think he was your type." Clint stood in the doorway, voice low and features dark. Tony's hand slipped and the piece he was carefully navigating into place missed its mark with the sickening clang of metal on expensive metal. He cursed viciously, slamming down the tools before turning to face Clint.

 

"How did you get in here?" He demanded, standing up and closing the distance between them. He had to look up at Clint, but the man's stature made him no less terrifying. Clint clenched his fists and set his jaw.

 

"JARVIS." He said, simply, and Tony cursed again. The computer made some apologetic noises, if it were even possible for it to be apologetic at all, and Tony muttered under his breath that he would deal with him later.

 

"Fine." Tony said, this time to Clint as he turned his fiery eyes towards him. "Then what are you doing here?"

 

"Like I said; I didn't think he was your type."

 

"Back up." Tony said, confusion overcoming his raw anger as he furrowed his eyebrows. "Who is my type?" Clint blinked, once, his features softening as he tried to figure out what miscommunication was passing between them. It began to dawn on him, with all the eventuality of the sun rising, and he folded his arms as something twisted like amusement passed over his face.

 

"You don't remember, do you?"

 

“Well, evidently.” Tony spread his hands and raised his eyebrows. “Care to enlighten me?” Clint thought for a moment, eyes locked with Tony's dark brown ones, the dark circles around them seemingly greater in the artificial light of the workshop.

 

“You forced Loki to kiss you.” He said, slowly, deliberately, letting each word fall as if it were made of lead. “You abused him.” A horror passed over Tony's features, brief and blunt and sudden, gone as soon as Clint had seen it so he couldn't be sure, to be replaced with a furrowed brow and an anger unlike anything Clint had ever seen in him.

 

“Is that what he told you?” Tony struggled to keep his voice level as he took a step towards Clint, who would have instinctively taken half a step backwards if his back hadn't been pressed against the door frame. He sharply exhaled and stood up straight as he could, shoulders back and face stern.

 

“Why am I so inclined to believe him, Stark?” He asked, with a frightening candidness, voice still in the storm that was brewing between them.

 

“Why are you?” Tony all but shouted, throwing an arm out to punctuate his point. “You know what he's like! He's playing with you, Barton!”

 

“I'm not hearing this.” Clint said, shaking his head. “I can't believe you're using _that_ to defend yourself. I know what he's like, but I also know you! And you took your position and used it to abuse him. No one deserves that.”

 

“He's not just anyone!” Tony's voice rang out across the bare metal-clad and stone walls of the workshop, ringing and distorting into strange echos which made Clint flinch. He was unbearably close to Clint, so that he could feel his breath on his face and smell the motor oil which stuck to him. “So what if I did? So what if I gave him a taste of his own medicine? You're the last person who should feel for him!” Clint opened his mouth to retort but froze; there was a truth in Tony's words, which was perhaps why they had hurt so, but there was something else in them which made Clint burn. 

 

“Don't tell me what I can and can't _feel_.” Clint said, voice so quiet it was barely audible, and yet the venom in it made Tony step back. 

 

“Clint, c'mon.” Tony extended a hand to him, ready to touch him comfortingly on the shoulder, but Clint made a point of knocking it away. “Can't you see what he's doing to you?”

 

“Don't insult me. I know when I'm being manipulated, and you can stop it.” Clint turned his back, walking away with purpose, storming through the corridor out of the labyrinth of workshops so that Tony almost had to jog to keep up with him. 

 

“Clint, I wasn't... I didn't mean to... Where are you going?” Tony stopped and Clint stopped shortly after, turning back to him with eyes like fire and fists clenched. 

 

“Away. Out of here and away from _you_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the mini-hiatus, guys. This fic has been described as 'intense' and it is, especially for me writing it. I need time away from it. Sorry I can't warn you for when I need time to think.


	24. Chapter 24

Clint was halfway to Loki's room when his phone rang. He did not even bother to check who it was before declining to take the call, but he could guess it was Coulson. The man would not approve of what he was about to do so he decided he wouldn't tell him, let the man be damned for what he might think. What he was doing was right, he had to pull Loki out of the situation, because he had wanted so desperately for someone to do it to him. He banged twice on Loki's door before opening it without waiting for a response. Loki leapt off the bed and stood tense and ready on the other side of it. He seemed little subdued by the fact it was Clint forcing his way into his room.

 

“Pack your bag.” Clint said, before Loki had the chance to say anything at all. He stood still, dumbfounded, unable to find any words or to convince his body to move at all. “That's an order!” Clint nearly shouted at him, and Loki flinched minutely at the sudden change of volume; but an order was an order, and he dragged the duffle bag out from under the bed and began to unpack the bedside table into it.

 

“We're leaving?” He dared to ask, but couldn't bring himself to raise his eyes through the veil of hair across his face as he bent down low over the task he was given.

 

“I didn't mean to shout at you.” Clint said, although there was little apology in his tone. “Just... get your stuff together. We're not staying here.”

 

“I assume this is related to what Stark did.” Loki heaved the bag full of clothes onto the bed, the weight of it causing a ripple in the otherwise smooth satin. When Clint said nothing in response, he continued. “You realise that it doesn't matter? That it's the least I could expect given -” He faltered, let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding, and started again. “Given my position.”

 

“I'll pretend I didn't hear that.” He said, eyes hard. “No one deserves to be treated like that. Not even you.” Loki looked at him, with green eyes wide, before bowing his suddenly humbled head.

 

“Thank you.” He muttered, the words hard for him to speak. Clint said nothing, instead turning and opening the door.

 

“C'mon. I need to get my stuff, too.”

 

*

 

They took a taxi back to Clint's flat; Loki kept his head low and his features shadowed by the huge hood of the jumper he was wearing so that he would appear unrecognisable to the cab driver, on the off-chance he'd be recognised at all. No words passed between the occupants of the cab, asides from the occasional grunt from the driver about the traffic or the weather, which were met with stony silence.

 

Clint carried both the bags up the stairs to his apartment, leaving Loki to traipse behind him like a long-lost shadow. There seemed to be so many more stairs up than there had been down, an endless staircase with Clint's apartment at the top like some beacon of hope. Was that hope? Or was that darkness, was that something more sinister than a want to protect Loki? Now the staircase seemed impossibly short and within no time they were standing at the door of Clint's apartment. Loki could feel his stomach turn uncomfortably as Clint turned the key in the lock.

 

The apartment was smaller than he remembered, and as he stood in its living room it felt as if he could reach out and touch all four walls. Clint disappeared, momentarily, leaving Loki alone with his thoughts. Perhaps Clint had seen the light provided by Stark; that Loki was his to do with as he pleased, and perhaps some twisted sense of justice was in order. Perhaps he felt more comfortable dealing out that kind of justice alone in his flat than within the ever-public Stark Tower. Perhaps Loki would never see the outside again. He turned his face to the window, watched the rain clouds begin to gather once again over the New York skyline, before Clint reappeared without their bags in hand.

 

“Don't look at me like that.” Clint said, seeing the slowly-dawning panic on Loki's face. “I know you only expect the worst because of what you've given, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to do anything to you.” Loki nodded, slowly. “It should be obvious that I'm the last person you should expect that from.” He snapped, stepping past Loki a little too closely on his way to the flat's front door. “I'll be back soon. Just don't... Just behave yourself.” Clint waved the sound of the order away with a casual flick of his hand, and with that he was gone, leaving Loki to himself in the flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My life is a bit of a whirlwind right now, so I'm afraid it's only a short update to tide you all over.


	25. The Corner of Reade Street and Broadway

Clint cursed under his breath all the way out of his apartment block and into the street, where people started giving him odd looks so he stopped, but what else was there for him to do? In his haste in leaving Stark Tower he had forgotten to consider his options, and particularly the ramifications of exploring this particular option. He was back to square one, quite literally; he and Loki, in his apartment, together. Alone. He cursed again, loud enough for a nearby banker to hear, who began to tut at him audibly. Clint glared at him and started walking left. He kept taking left turns until he walked right round to his apartment block, and his mind still wasn't clear so he went one block ahead and continued taking a series of left turns until he had walked around that block as well.

 

When he was considering going around the block again, perhaps running this time to try and clear his head, his phone rang again. There was something more urgent in its ring, although it was the same monotonous tone as always, so he answered it. It was Coulson.

 

“Clint, what the Hell?” Was the first thing he said, followed by “Where are you?”

 

“It's nice to hear from you too.” Clint said, dully, without humour.

 

"Where are you?" Coulson repeated, not so much asking a question as demanding an answer.

 

"At the corner of Reade Street and Broadway." Clint replied, a blunt practicality to his tone. He gave the street sign he was standing under a cursory glance as he answered.

 

"And Loki?" Coulson asked, direct and without care.

 

"He's safe. At my place. Have you been speaking to Stark?" Clint's tone changed to something more conversational for the question and he could sense Coulson's frustration.

 

"I spoke to him enough to know you just left, without thinking."

 

“That's not true.” Clint said, lying through his teeth. “I thought about it. I came to a decision. I took action.”

 

“A bad decision, Clint.” His voice was almost desperate. Clint could picture him, wanting to throw his phone across the room in exasperation, but restraining himself just enough to continue the conversation.

 

“My slave my decision.” Clint said, bitterly, wrapping his spare arm around himself in a half-hug, as if protecting himself from some non-existent breeze. His skin felt both cold and hot, and on his forehead a thin veneer of sweat was beginning to form. His chest felt tight, as if someone were sitting on it, and his stomach twisted with the starts of panic. Coulson was right; he hadn't thought this through, and now he was going to be stuck living in a confined space with the thing he feared the most. He grabbed at his shirt, wishing it weren't so tight against his skin, as his breathing grew frantic.

 

“Clint, are you okay?”

 

“This conversation is over.” Clint said, his voice rising and falling with the waves of panic, before hanging up. There were too many people on the street, so close to him, and he nearly sprinted back to his flat to get away from them.

 

It was only when he was standing outside his front door that he realised he couldn't go in.

 

*

 

The flat itself was sparse, militant in its order and cold in its presence. Loki stood in the middle of its living room, slowly turning to examine every corner of the room. It did not feel like a home. In fact it felt barely lived in at all; there were no grooves in the sofa where someone regularly sat, and everything had a thin layer of dust which came free on his fingers whenever he touched something. He knew his fingerprints in the dust would display his nosiness, but he could not suppress the instinct to explore. There were no ornaments on the shelves, the television did not buzz with the static of frequent use. It was only now, on his return, that Loki could appreciate its strangeness.

 

He stepped away from the television, having brushed all the dust off the top of it, back to the centre of the room. He was standing in the exact spot he had been deposited by his guards, where he had knelt at Clint's feet on his first day in Midgard. He turned around, looking at the seat where Clint had perched, looking at him with a mix of fear and awe, reading and rereading the document which bound him. How things had changed; the man who would have once wished him disappeared was now protecting him, pulling him out of a situation which he deemed dangerous whereas previously he might have left him to suffer his fate.

 

And it made _sense_ , thought Loki, fingers trailing along the arm of Clint's chair, it made sense that Clint had come running to his rescue. He had seen inside Clint's heart, in the many nights they had spent together, in another lifetime now, and he was a good man. With what he had suffered, with what Loki had put him through, it made sense that he would protect someone in the same situation. Loki's countenance did not change as he thought, eyes hard and lips thin as he stared into the space ahead of him. The tables had turned and, in the position Loki had once been in, Clint had not acted as he had done. He had done the exact opposite. It was _interesting_ , to say the least.

 

*

 

Clint took one deep breath and turned his key in the lock, pushing the door open with his head bowed as if he were expecting a blow. Nothing came, so he stood up in the open doorway, holding the door as he surveyed the room ahead of him; it was as he had left it, with Loki standing in its centre. He looked nothing like the creature which had been left at his feet, for that man had been small and humbled and  _scared_ , whereas Loki now stood tall, solid, a man and not a child in the centre of the room. Clint swallowed and closed the door behind him. 

 

“I meant to thank you.” Loki said, in a measured voice. 

 

“What else was I going to do?” Clint let his shoulders rise and fall, as if to shrug away the apology, as if what he had done for Loki meant nothing. Loki pursed his lips but said nothing, and Clint clenched and unclenched one of his fists in an attempt to feel the silence between them. “Come on.” Clint said, motioning for Loki to follow him down the narrow hallway which connected the living room to the rest of the flat. “I'll give you the full tour.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I chose some streets at random from Google maps. Sue me.


	26. The Assertion of Power

There was so little to show Loki that any kind of formal tour was strictly unnecessary; Clint pointed out each of the rooms from the hallway, briefly showing the other man the contents of each by pushing the doors open, but it kept him talking and the more he talked the more he felt at home in the flat, like it was his own space and that it hadn't, in fact, been invaded by someone who had viciously abused him. It was not an invasion, it was an invitation, not even that but a saving; he had _saved_ Loki, from whatever had awaited him at Stark Tower, and he should be _thankful_. He tried again and again to reaffirm this in his mind, to solidify the position of power he had, but it didn't stop him freezing when Loki brushed past him to further investigate the kitchen. 

 

“So what do you think?” He said, voice rough in his throat as he forced himself to speak. Loki turned back to him, letting the kitchen door fall shut with what was, to Clint, a near-deafening bang. 

 

“If it's not above my position to say so,” Loki said, not without sarcasm “It's small. Smaller than I had thought.” Clint raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, hard pushed to defend his cute little flat in that respect. 

 

“We'll make it work.” He said, attempting to assert some certainty over the situation, but his tone came off as apologetic, for which he inwardly cursed. 

 

*

 

Time passed slowly, agonisingly slowly, inside the confines of the flat in which the two pointlessly wandered. Loki had taken to perching on the edge of Clint's armchair, poised like a cat, elegant but tense, watching Clint move busily from room to room as he created work for himself. He was frantic to watch, like a mouse in a maze, and it was more amusement than Loki ever could have hoped for, although even he was not arrogant enough to show it. Instead he sat intently, watching Clint with his head cocked to one side, as the man moved from room to room as if he weren't at home in his own flat, as if he weren't comfortable in the space.

 

Loki stood up, seizing his chance.

 

“Hey.” He said, crossing the distance between he and Clint and catching hold of the other man's arm before he could make his excuses and leave the room again. Clint froze at the touch, immobilized, and inwardly Loki smiled. “I never thanked you.”

 

“It was nothing.” Clint mumbled, unable to look at Loki as his eyes focussed anywhere but the other man's face. He could feel those green eyes burning into him and he did not want to turn.

 

“I'll decide what's nothing.” Loki said, pulling on Clint's arm just hard enough to make him stumble a step closer, so that his shoulder brushed Loki's chest, so that they were close enough for Loki to whisper to him, if he wanted to. For a split second nothing happened and then everything happened at once; Loki threw Clint against the wall, hand still gripping his wrist, Clint's head hitting the wall hard enough to make him see stars whilst Loki pinned him down with his full body weight; even without his god-like powers he was still remarkably strong. “Thank you.” He smiled, eyes narrow and snarl vicious, holding Clint down who was frozen, holding his breath, unable to fight back even though he wanted to, for all of a sudden everything was coming back; the staff in his chest, what he had done, what had been done to him. It was too much, all too much, and there was nothing he could do. “Really, thank you.”

 


	27. The B Side

The air around them was disquiet, electric; Clint's breathing was shallow, quick, his mouth dry as he felt the wall press into his back, Loki's arm across his chest pinning him down. Their faces were close enough for him to feel Loki's breath on his cheek, smell the disconcertingly homely scent of shampoo on his hair, of detergent on his clothes. He clenched and unclenched his fist, powerless to do anything else, wishing he could move his suddenly leaden limbs.

 

“Hm.” Loki broke his gaze, letting his eyes wander over Clint, his lips slightly parted with the slightest of smirks beginning to cross them. “This is familiar.”

 

Clint swallowed, his mouth feeling like it was full of cotton wool, and clenched his fist once more.

 

“You don't control me.” He managed, breath coming a little more steadily at the sound of his own voice. Loki's grip tightened on his wrist.

 

“Really.” The god growled, teeth bared and voice like venom. “Because now would suggest otherwise.”

 

Clint took a shuddering breath and shut his eyes. Inside the blackness he could imagine the tables were turned, but when he opened them Loki was still standing over him, still holding him down. Loki let go of his wrist and lifted it up besides Clint's face, hovering for a moment before gently stroking his cheek.

 

“I'm going to let you go.” He said, deceptively softly, stroking Clint's cheek again, causing Clint to shake. His hands scrabbled for purchase against the wall behind him but found nothing. “And you're going not going to do anything stupid.” Clint nodded, barely moving his head but the movement was unmistakable. Loki stepped back, lowering his arm so that Clint could breathe freely, and Clint was not even sure his legs would support him now that Loki was not holding him against the wall. He felt himself drop, hands on his thighs, taking a moment to steady himself. Loki folded his arms and watched him regain his breath, a dark smile marking his lips. He moved next to Clint and slipped an arm around his shoulders.

 

“See? It's not difficult.” He gently rubbed Clint's arm and underneath the touch Clint tensed but remained otherwise completely still.

 

“I -”

 

“No, Clint, no.” Loki said, quietly, pulling him close. “We speak when we're told.” Clint nodded against Loki's shoulder and Loki put his other arm around him, pulling him into a parody of an embrace. He stroked the back of the shaking Clint, like a mother attempting to calm a child, whilst Clint bit back tears.

 

*

 

Loki told Clint to sit on the sofa and so he did, hooded eyes fixed on the floor and body slumped in the seat as Loki paced around the flat, examining the contract Asgard had given Clint (after fishing it out of Clint's pocket, an action which caused the archer to flinch away from the touch). He was looking for loopholes, Clint reasoned, or at the very least the boundaries he was able to push – he could not attempt to escape from Clint's possession, but otherwise the contact was blissfully vague. His smile only grew wider as the read over the parchment again and again.

 

“I like this.” He said, mostly to himself as he stopped in front of Clint with the parchment held in his delicate fingers. “We can work this out however we see fit.” He smiled at Clint over the top of the unfurled parchment but Clint did not even look up; there was no saving grace, no clause which could get him out of this. If it weren't for his pride he could have cried.

 

“Oh, Clint.” Loki dropped down in front of him, hands on his knees, rubbing gentle circles. “Cheer up. It could always be worse.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I titled this one based on the fact I wrote two versions, the 'A Side' and the 'B Side' (which is a callback to the days of cassettes, for those of you who remember). I ended up wanting to publish the B Side, so here it is. Enjoy.


	28. The Endless Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This crazy little character experiment has passed 4000 hits, 70 kudos, and 100 comments. I am in awe that so many people read and appreciate this work. Thank you for being wonderful.

Time passed both too fast and too slow as night fell over the flat. Clint's phone rang on and off the whole time but Loki instructed him to ignore it and so he did, hoping beyond hope that someone would come by to check on him when he didn't answer the calls. No one came and the flat remained deathly silent; Loki spent his time watching Clint, who lay slumped on the sofa, unable and unwilling to move a muscle. Occasionally Loki would speak, tone soft, attempting to coax an answer out of Clint, but he received none which made him vicious, verbally lashing out until he would reach out to stroke Clint's shoulder and apologise. The sound of his voice washed over Clint, who only half-registered what was being said to him as he lay still in the darkness, the only light seeming to come from Loki's gleaming eyes.

 

He had no idea how late it was when Loki came over to him, gently pulling him up into a sitting position and crouching down in front of him.

 

“Come with me.” He said, voice hard enough to cajole movement out of Clint, but still soft and promising. Clint allowed Loki to take his hand and brought himself up to standing, not wanting his feet to move but finding them doing so anyway, the pain in his chest where the staff had once pierced him suddenly flaring white hot. Loki led him, by the hand, to his bedroom.

 

It was all too much; the pain in his chest had spread all throughout his torso, infecting him, making him want to curl up into a ball and hide; his breathing had become ragged, fast, and shallow; his hands and forehead were sweating cold and he felt as if he might faint. Loki sat him down on his side of the bed and then sat down next to him, one arm around his shoulders and the other resting on his thigh.

 

“Shh.” He said, pulling Clint close enough to be able to place a light kiss on his temple. “It's alright. I'm not going to do anything to you.” He rubbed Clint's back and Clint felt as though he might be sick. “You're just going to sleep next to me. Where I can keep an eye on you.” He added the last sentence in a darker tone, lips pursed as he looked at the pale and shaking Clint. “Lie down.”

 

Clint was somewhat thankful for the command, unsure of exactly how much longer he could remain upright with his head swimming as it was, and so laid his head down on the pillow and curled his legs up onto the bed. Loki walked around the foot of the bed and slid in next to him, his body mere inches from Clint's as he stroked his hair.

 

Clint could remember every night they had spent like this, every time Loki had instructed him to sleep next to him, had held him close, had comforted him when he was injured. It made it no less painful to be lying there right now, glassy eyes fixed on the wall ahead as Loki softly whispered platitudes to him, sometimes in English and sometimes in what he supposed was Old Norse, whilst the god stroked his hair and his back and his arms.

 

He pretended to fall asleep. He shut his eyes, despite it seeming like the worst thing he could possibly do, and relaxed every single one of his muscles one by one, consciously un-knitting them as he lay in the darkness. He relaxed his breathing, made it deeper, made it regular, until his hurried heartbeat began to slow and fall in rhythm with it. He was not sure exactly how long he lay there, in total darkness, feeling nothing but the bed beneath him to ground him and Loki's hands around his waist, in his hair, against his cheek. He counted breaths, and when he lost count he counted heartbeats, and when he lost count of those he opened his eyes. Loki's hands had stopped moving, his breathing deep and rhythmic besides him in the darkness, so close to Clint he could feel it against the back of his neck.

 

Eventually his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, to the harsh glow of his digital alarm clock and the ghostly blue light it cast over his bedside table. He took count of his possessions; the alarm clock, the glass of water besides it, the bow beneath his bed and the Beretta under his pillow.

 

*

 

When he felt Loki withdraw his arm from around his waist he shut his eyes as if they had never been open, steadied his breathing and felt his heart-rate drop. He could hear the blood pumping in his ears, feel it in his temples, as the bed beneath him shifted as Loki sat up. He could feel those green eyes on him, momentarily, before the god swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Clint listened closely to the god's footsteps as they walked around the edge of the bed, stopped momentarily next to Clint, then turned around. They were walking towards the door when Clint made his move.

 

Eyes still shut he slipped his right hand beneath his pillow, skin against the cool metal of the gun as his fist closed around the grip, finger on the trigger. In one swift movement he pulled the gun down, out from under the pillow without disturbing it, straightening his arm to aim as he pushed his body up with his free hand to a sitting position. He opened his eyes last, knowing instinctively his aim to be true, finding the barrel of the gun trained on Loki's heart. The god turned at the sound of his movement, eyes wide when he saw the muzzle of the gun. He went to take a step forwards.

 

“Stop. Don't move.” Said Clint, voice level. He could no longer feel the blood in his temples; his heart had slowed, his breathing barely perceptible, ready to make a kill-shot if he had to.

 

“You're going to kill me, Barton?” Loki said, venomous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 

The barrel of the gun wavered ever so slightly.

 


	29. The Knight

Clint stood up, feeling as though his knees might collapse under his weight, and steadied his hand. The sights realigned over Loki's heart, and like a coiled viper ready to strike a final blow he, too, was ready for a moment he prayed would never come. With the gun in his hand he felt safer, more secure; this was the world he knew.

 

"Think very carefully." He told Loki, whose eyes were electric and settled on the gun, hands raised in a show of mock surrender. "You know how good I am." He said, swallowing the lump in his throat, wishing his mouth weren't so dry. "I could kill you. I could stop you. I could hit a nerve centre and make you wish you were dead, but not kill you. Your choice." He shrugged, retightening his grip on the pistol. For a split second Loki's features were marked with fear, darkened by it, before his vicious grin returned.

 

"And I am to believe you'd do that?" He asked, although it wasn't a question.

 

"You don't have to." Clint took half a step forwards, hesitant, unsure of the strength in his legs and the resolve in his heart. "But it would be wise." Loki took half a step back, instinctively, back connecting with the closed door behind him. He uttered a curse under his breath, momentarily casting his gaze back to the closed door before returning his cold eyes to Clint.

 

"Do not tell me what would be wise." He spat, lowering his hands. "I know you, Barton, and you're nothing more than words. So shoot.” He said, taking a step forwards away from the door, height enough to intimidate Clint without anything else. “I would rather die.”

 

Clint steadied the gun, fighting the tremor in his hand.

 

*

 

“Clint?” Natasha called, knocking on the door again. “Clint I'm coming in if you don't answer. I'll give you to three.” She paused, head cocked towards the door, before starting to count. “One...” She inserted her lock-picks into the lock on Clint's door. “Two...” She twisted the pin; the lock had been picked by her so many times before that she could practically do it with her eyes closed, and on 'three' it clicked free and the door swung open.

 

The living area of the flat was empty, still, eerily quiet. She stepped over the threshold, drawing her weapon from inside her leather jacket. She held it low, muzzle towards the floor, as she mentally cleared the room.

 

Down the narrow hall and she cleared the kitchen, sweeping the room with her eyes and weapon before turning her back on it. Something was not right, she could taste it in the air, feel it in the floorboards under her feet. She walked slowly towards the door to Clint's bedroom, gun steadied in both hands.

  
“Clint?”

 

*

 

“Clint?” Said a woman's voice, Natasha, on the other side of the bedroom door. Loki inclined his head towards the noise but did not take his eyes off the gun, whereas Clint looked away and focused on the door, lowering the weapon ever so slightly. Neither moved, frozen by the musical sound of Natasha's calling. “Clint, I'm going to come in.”

 

Neither Loki nor Clint could do anything, as the door behind Loki opened just a crack. Natasha entered in two halves; first her weapon, held tightly between her two well-manicured hands, then her body as she slid in through the gap in the door. She mentally cleared half the room before her eyes fell upon the scene playing out in the room's centre.

 

“On your knees.” She said, firmly, muzzle of the gun grazing the base of Loki's spine. “ _Now_.” Loki's resolve seemed to flutter, his shoulders dropping ever so slightly as he sighed, before he slowly and deliberately dropped to his knees. “Hands behind your head.” She said, gun trained on the back of his neck as Loki complied, interlacing his long fingers behind his dark head of hair. “Stay there.” She stepped around Loki, gun in one hand and sights firmly on his cheek, and approached Clint. She held out her hand. “Give me the gun.”

 

Clint lowered the weapon but kept his hand firmly tightened around the grip.

 

“Give me the gun, Clint.” She repeated, gently, free hand folding closed over the barrel of Clint's gun. He let go of the weapon, without looking at her, without raising his eyes from the floor ahead of him. She pulled the gun free of his lax grip and slipped it down the back of the waistband of her trousers. She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, gently.

 

“There are shackles in the living room.” He said, dully, slowly as if he were taking time to process the words he was saying. “I bought them back from Stark Tower. For some reason. We need to get him restrained.”

 

*

 

They left Loki in the bedroom, bound from his neck to his ankles in the shackles he had been brought in and unable to move from the position, sat on the bed, in which they had left him. Clint walked ahead of Natasha to the living room.

 

She sat Clint down, hand heavy on his shoulder as she pushed him down into the seat. She holstered her weapon and sat next to him, one hand on his knee.

  
“What went wrong, Clint?”

 

Clint put his head in his hands and sobbed. 


	30. The Widow and The Handler

Natasha wrapped her arms around Clint, drawing him in close and resting her head on top of his. She held him until he could contain himself, where she let him go and simply held his hand until he was ready to say something.

 

“He threw me against that wall.” He said, gesturing with his free hand. He didn't look up and Natasha didn't look in the direction he had been pointing, instead focusing entirely on Clint. “I tried to... I said he didn't control me and... God, Tasha, I tried.” He buried his head in her shoulder and she slipped an arm around his shoulders, massaging his back as his breathing came ragged and heavy. “He just...”

 

“I know, Clint, I know.” She said, as softly as she could whilst quietly seething. She set her jaw and bit her tongue; if she had no one to worry about but herself she would storm into the bedroom and pistol-whip Loki until he cried, but she could not bear to leave Clint alone. “I know you tried. But it's not your fault.”

 

Another knock at the door and within seconds Coulson had let himself in; Natasha had not bothered to lock the door behind her when she had entered.

 

“I came as soon as I got your message.” He said to Natasha, out of breath as if he had run the entire way instead of just up the stairs. Clint stood up to greet him and let himself be gathered up in Coulson's arms as his handler held him tightly, muttering that it would be okay in his ear. He pulled back and kissed Clint's forehead, his agent not making eye contact as he did so.

 

“Please don't make me say it again.” Was all Clint could manage to say. Natasha stood up, putting a hand on his shoulder and ushering him back into his seat, before pulling Coulson to one side and whispering hurriedly in his ear about what had transpired in the flat. Coulson said nothing to her, his expression only growing greyer, before sitting down on the other side of Clint.

 

“I told you this wouldn't go well.” He said, the slightest of smug smiles touching his lips.

 

“Yeah.” Clint laughed, bitterly, folding his hands in his lap and staring resolutely at the floor. “You did. But I didn't listen, did I? I never do.”

 

“Clint, stop that.” Coulson warned, hand on his knee. “This wasn't your fault. You were only trying to do right.”

 

“And I screwed it up again.”

 

“Oh Clint, no.” Both Coulson and Natasha had their arms around him as he once more buried his head in his hands. “This was _not. Your. Fault._ ”

 

*

 

Loki stared at the locked door, jaw set and eyes narrowed. He pulled at the restraints, grazing his wrists and neck as he did so, but not caring enough to stop. The pain was dulled, almost non-existent as he shifted against them; there had to be a way out, there had to be. If Clint even said a word against him he doubted he would see something other than the inside of this room ever again.

 

Not that would necessarily be a bad thing, he thought, smiling bitterly. Perhaps the redhead would hit him hard enough this time to make him forget his position, perhaps Barton's handler would kill him in his efforts to protect Clint. And perhaps that'd be alright. But still he pulled at the restraints, in a futile effort to escape.

 

*

 

Coulson and Natasha sat huddled over Clint until he looked up from his hands, face mottled from the pressure of his palms against his cheeks. Coulson kept an arm around him whilst Natasha withdrew, instead choosing to gently hold his hand.

 

“There's something I have to do.” He said, eventually, voice cracking so badly he had to clear it with a cough.

 

“You don't have to do anything.” Natasha said, squeezing his hand. “Nothing at all, if you don't want. We can handle it.” She shot a dangerous glance over to Coulson, who returned it. Clint shook his head.

 

“No, I have to. I'm not going to let this colour me. I have to do this.” He stood up, pushing both Coulson and Natasha off of him. “I have to do this.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You lovely people get a double-update tonight. Mainly because I'm going to be wrapping this up soon, and I have guilt issues about that. Thanks for you all for sticking with it for this long.


	31. The Saviour

“Loki?” Clint called through the locked door, key in his hand as it trembled ever so slightly. “I'm giving you five seconds. Sit down on the bed and don't move.” He looked back at Natasha, who was standing at the end of the corridor, and she gave him a gentle nod. He inserted the key into the lock on the second try, cursing how badly he was shaking, and pushed the door open. Loki sat on the bed, hunched over his knees, glaring at Clint.

 

“What exactly did you expect me to do?” He spat, as Clint, with a final look at Natasha, pushed the door shut behind him. He felt the latch click shut with a deadly finality; he was alone.

 

He crossed the distance between himself and Loki in one step and stood, looking down at the god, as the god looked back at him, green eyes bitter and dangerous and hands curled back around the restraints as if he were trying to pull the metal loose. Underneath the cold iron of the restraints there were fresh abrasions, bruises, where he had been testing their strength, and something about it made Clint's heart sink. He pressed his lips together, trying to keep the sadness out of his eyes, as he slowly knelt down in front of Loki. The god's eyes did not leave him for a second, and Loki could not help a touch of curiosity colouring his expression as he watched Clint kneel. Clint rested his hands in his lap and for a moment looked anywhere but up at the god in front of him. Loki inclined his head, hair falling forwards, trying to catch his gaze, situation beyond even his comprehension.

 

“I should probably apologise.” Clint said, half a smile on his lips. “The restraints seemed necessary. Didn't want to be thrown into a wall again, that hurt.” He rubbed the back of his head in memory of where it had struck the concrete, ruffling his hair. Loki's eyes remained steely as he waited for the situation to unfold. Clint finally met his gaze and dropped his smile.

 

“Clint, I'm -”

 

“Don't apologise.” Clint cut across him, tone tired. “Apologies are cheap, especially from you.” The god seemed to shrink back a little bit, hands tightly clasped now instead of fingering the cool metal of the restraints. He broke Clint's glaze, looking away over his shoulder at the door, as if he could bear to do anything except look at Clint. “Look at me.” Clint said, clenching one fist in frustration. “ _Look at me_. That's better.” He smiled, briefly, as the god slowly brought his green eyes back to Clint's. “I have to do this.” He said, relaxing his fist and refolding his hands in his lap. “Not for you, God knows not for you, but for me. Because you don't control me.” The god made a move to say something and Clint held up his hand. “Listen. For the sake of my own sanity, I'm going to say this: I forgive you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been talked out of ending this fic by a close friend of mine. However, it is now on HIATUS until further notice. 
> 
> It's been a joy to write but it's also caused a lot of pain, because of a lot of boring, whiny, personal issues I have. It's been a rollercoaster, and it's been wonderful having you, dear reader, along for the ride. 
> 
> See you all soon!


	32. The Trust and The Threat

“C'mere.” Clint said, after a while, gesturing casually with the hand he had raised to silence Loki. The silence between them had been long but not strained, as Loki stared at him with eyes wide and breath held as if he expected Clint at any second to retract the forgiveness, to punish him harshly for his actions instead of forgiving him so easily. Loki slid off the edge of the bed, crumpling on his knees in a pile on the floor, shock so much he was barely able to hold his head up to keep Clint's gaze. Clint gestured again, words unnecessary in the silence between them, and Loki instinctively understood; he held out his hands and Clint, one hand steadying Loki's shaking ones, undid the locks which bound him at his wrists. Clint slipped the restraints over Loki's hands and held them steady, so as they didn't pull on the restraint still around his neck. Loki held his breath as Clint moved in closer, faces mere inches apart as Clint focused on the lock holding the chain around Loki's neck. In one click it, too, was free and Clint pulled the chain away so that it fell to the floor between them.

 

Without letting go of the breath he was holding, Loki threw his arms around Clint. Every muscle in Clint's body froze at the gesture, but something was different, something told him he could relax and let Loki pull him close; this was safe, somehow, and for once his breastbone didn't ache where the staff had pierced him. He let himself put his arms around Loki, slowly, tentatively, as the god held him tight.

 

“Thank you.” Loki said, eventually, pulling back just enough to place a kiss on Clint's cheek; Clint felt calm, surprisingly to him, at the gesture. He let his arms fall away from Loki as the god withdrew his own, folding his hands in his lap and looking down at them. “I don't remember the last time someone forgave me anything.”

 

“Just because what you've done is unforgivable doesn't mean I can't forgive you for what little of it you did to me.” Clint attempted a smile, one corner of his mouth complying as he put a hand on the god's shoulder. Loki looked sideways at the hand then up at Clint, for once lost for words.

 

“I -”

 

“We're not saying any more.” Clint said, pushing himself up to standing. He extended a hand and Loki took it, allowing himself to be pulled up. Clint's expression darkened as he held the god still with a vice-like grip, bringing him close enough to whisper in his ear: “Just know that if you pull any _shit like that_ again I will _kill_ you. No hesitation.”

 

*

 

Clint left Loki in the bedroom and went back to Coulson and Natasha. Natasha leapt on him first, standing up from her position on the sofa with a determined look on her face.

  
“What did you do?” She asked, gently enough as not to startle Clint but with enough force to demand an answer. Clint smiled at her, with a shrug of his shoulders.

 

“I forgave him.” He said, almost flippant as he stepped past her to sit on the sofa next to Coulson.

 

“Clint...” Coulson took his hand, firmly, concern painting his face. “Are you sure that was a good idea?”

 

“We reached an understanding.” Said Clint, in a way which invited no further questions. Natasha sighed and stepped over to him, bending down to look into his eyes.

  
“This better not turn out to be a stupid decision, Barton.”

 

“Trust me. Please.” He added, biting his lip and giving Coulson's hand a squeeze. Natasha took his face in her hands and smiled at him.

 

“I always do.”

 

“We both do.” Said Coulson, still unsure of Clint's decision. “It's just...”

 

“I'm asking you to trust me.” Said Clint, turning to Coulson and withdrawing his hand. “You do, or you don't.”

 

“I do, Clint. You know I do.”

 

*

 

Loki collapsed backwards onto the bed, eyes shut and mind racing. Perhaps his show of contrition had improved his stakes, perhaps he was right to judge the situation thus and throw his arms around Clint... perhaps the threat was empty. He couldn't be sure, and it pained him deeply to be so unsure of how to play the situation. He put his hands over his face and breathed deeply, trying to centre himself.

 

Clint had not tensed when he had touched him. He had not tensed when he had kissed him. Something in Clint had changed, and whatever it was unnerved him. He let his hands fall away from his face to besides his head as he stared up at the plain white ceiling, wishing he had some kind of plan. For the first time in his life, he felt stranded. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S BACK.
> 
> It's me, btw. And it feels good.


	33. The Homesick Child

Loki lay on the sofa, motionless, eyes half-closed as he stared at the white featureless ceiling, wishing the morning away. Time in the flat passed both too slow and too fast, too fast when things were happening so much so he felt like he was loosing his footing, but far too slow when nothing at all happened. Now was a time when nothing was happening and every second felt heavy; the plain white ceiling stared back at him, as expressionless as he was.

 

He turned his face to the television, which Clint had taken to leaving on even when neither of them showed any interest in what was on. The humans on the screen were playing some sort of game, matching words to pictures. Loki tried to follow the rules but, without the sound, it was difficult. Clint had the television in one of two states – muted, or so loud that it could be heard from every room in the flat. Loki guessed that he, too, was trying to fill the time with something and tried to fill it with noise and pictures whereas Loki filled it with a melancholy brooding.

 

From the kitchen he could hear Clint singing under his breath – the walls of the flat were so painfully thin that he could hear the man just _existing_ – a popular song from the radio that Loki was beginning to half-recognise. Clint had had it stuck in his head for a week. He always sang whilst doing the dishes, presumably because he thought Loki couldn't hear, but the god almost didn't mind; it filled the silence with hung heavy. 

 

Clint walked into the living room, towel still in hand as he crossed the threshold before he slung it over one shoulder. He looked at Loki, head cocked and arms folded, before opening his mouth to say something. Loki did not look up from the television, did not sit up at all, did not move at all as he felt Clint's eyes run over him. Clint took a deep breath, attempted to speak, cleared his throat and then managed it.

 

“I think you need to speak to someone.” 

 

“I need to _what_.” Said Loki, in his usual disinterested drawl but still something about the statement plucked at his curiosity. 

 

“Well you're not speaking to me. And obviously _something's_ not right.” Clint said, something like annoyance in his tone but something also a lot like sorrow. Loki pushed himself up to sitting and swept his hair out of his face. 

 

“You would like to know what's not right?” He asked, lips pursed as he considered Clint's empty expression for a moment. Clint always looked at him with that same acceptance when he knew an onslaught would follow. “What is not right, asides from my imprisonment in this flat? My lack of status, my fall from grace?” His tone was low, dangerous, and mentally Clint clocked the gun down the back of his waistband should the electricity in the air begin to spark “You would like to know what's wrong asides from all that?” He took a step forwards and Clint took half a step back, right hand twitching as it longed to go for the gun to put something between them. “Imagine how you might feel, stripped of your right to be a person, stuck in this sorry excuse for an apartment and so far away from home that you don't know what to do.” Loki stopped for breath and immediately regretted it, the silence giving his eyes a chance to grow damp and his hands a chance to shake. He tuned his back on Clint, who was looking at him with an insufferable mix of sadness and pity. 

 

“You miss home?” He asked, as gently as he could. 

 

“It's not that simple.” Loki spat, wrapping his arms around himself as if trying to protect himself from his own isolation. 

 

“Just tell me what I can do to help.” Clint said, feeling at a total loss. He wanted Loki to feel safe, secure, at home, for altruistic reasons as much as that it made him far less dangerous to live with. He clenched his fist, hand wanting to extend to touch Loki's shoulder, but something stopping it. 

 

“If I think of anything I'll let you know.” Loki said, insincerely, tone stating that the conversation was over. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been over two weeks, and I am a bad, BAD person for not updating.
> 
> But I've been productive. I started a games studio. Gonna be making a survival horror title. Hit me up if you want details.


	34. The Question of Requirements

The next few days passed in the flat without instance, making each one as dull as the last. Loki lay on the sofa and Clint tried to keep busy, but often took to standing in the living room door-way watching over Loki like some mother hen concerned for her chick. Loki found it as insufferable as he found everything else about his existence in the flat but he said nothing, preferring for once in his life to keep his silver tongue in his mouth. Eventually, on a day extraordinary only because it contained the motion, Clint walked over to the sofa.

 

“Move up.” He said, only half asking, as he motioned with his hand.

 

Loki sighed and acquiesced and shifted his legs closer to him so there was room on the sofa for Clint to sit. At first the man sat as if he were made of wood, totally inflexible, back straight as he sat on the edge of his seat, but eventually he began to relax, shifting his weight back into the sofa and leaning against the faux leather. They watched the television in silence, an odd tableaux, a mockery of homely life, until Clint found the situation to be too ridiculous and turned off the television. Loki blinked, the images of the humans lost in the jungle still imprinted on his retina, before turning his eyes to Clint. The man was fidgeting, hands wringing, rarely a good sign.

 

“We can't go on like this forever.” He said, eventually, and Loki nodded – eventually Clint would have to return to work (he understood that his fellow agents had been making excuses for his absence), and Loki would have to find something constructive to do with his time. He knew this conversation had been coming, he had been awaiting it since he first arrived at the flat. “I gotta go back to work,” Clint said, confirming Loki's suspicions about the direction of the conversation “And you...” He exhaled sharply, lips pressed together as he stopped to survey Loki. Loki shifted slightly, uncomfortable under the intensity of Clint's gaze, but never broke eye contact.

 

“I need to find a way to 'repay my debts to Midgard'.” Loki said, echoing the words of the contract Clint had been handed all those days ago. Clint nodded, hands firmly clasped, before he wet his lips with the tip of his tongue and spoke again.

 

“Any idea how?” He asked, corners of his mouth twitching upwards in a smile at the absurdity of asking.

 

“How am I supposed to know?” Loki tipped his head back and looked up at the ceiling, wishing someone would grant the answer to him. How did one repent for the murder of thousands, for the attempted dominance over a whole realm of people? He looked at Clint and sighed, hands spread in a gesture of compliance. “I will do whatever is required.”

 

“I know.” Said Clint, extending a hand and placing it briefly on Loki's knee. “We just need to find out _what's_ required.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update for you all because I feel guilty about leaving it so long. Longer one coming soon, I promise.


	35. The Plan

“We're going to have to bring him in.”

 

“Natasha...” Clint whined. They had been over this again and again, around and around the topic like dogs chasing their tails. They couldn't bring Loki into SHIELD. Doing so would void the contact and mean Loki would end up back in Asgard to await the death penalty.

 

And besides, Clint didn't want to. It felt a lot like admitting defeat.

 

“Clint.” Natasha put a hand over his, reaching across the kitchen table. She had been coming to check on him regularly, drinking his coffee, occupying space in the flat and breaking the silences that could sometimes stretch for days between him and Loki. “There were... casualties, besides you. Millions of pounds of damage. Loss of civilian life. Can't you see past yourself for just two minutes and let me explain how we could do this?” She gave his hand a squeeze as if to punctuate the question, her eyes burning into him so bright he had to look away. He grit his teeth and sighed.

 

“Alright.” He said, not noticing he had dropped his voice so Loki wouldn't overhear. “What are we gonna do?”

 

*

 

They had shut the kitchen door but that didn't stop Loki's hearing being sharp and the walls being thin; they were talking about him, for the seldom talked about anything else, and he had heard the name SHIELD being thrown around. They were going to hand him over. The contract would be void. He felt the pit of his stomach fall away as he came to that realisation, the ground beneath him begin to shake and the world begin to grow fuzzy at the edges. They were going to hand him over. The contract would be void.

 

*

 

“We'll call in Thor, he should be as good of an expert as any at Asgardian law, make sure we do everything by the book. You're not handing him over. You're... offering his services.”

 

“That just makes it sound worse!” Clint protested, quickly silenced by the look on Natasha's face.

 

“He is your slave. You will offer his services. You won't be violating the terms of the contract and everything will be fine.” She said it with such finality that, for a brief moment, Clint really believed everything would be fine; he trusted Natasha totally, but she hadn't thought this through. She couldn't have done.

 

“What about Fury?” He asked, hoping he'd finally found the loose seam which, when tugged, would unravel her whole plan.

 

“I'll take care of Fury.” She said, a dark twinkle in her eye. Clint knew not ask further questions.

 

*

 

Slowly, the world came back into focus as some words managed to drift their way through the terror clouding Loki's head. Thor. They were going to consult Thor. This could only be a good thing – his brother wouldn't want to see him up in front of the Asgardian courts again, and he would do all in his power to stop it from happening. This was good. This was safe.

 

He wondered, momentarily, why he had ever doubted Clint's intentions. The man was honourable, in his way, and he knew his feelings were so confused he wouldn't be able to make a decision as final as sending him out to slaughter. A touch of a smile came to the corners of his mouth before he heard the chairs in the kitchen shift; they were getting up, and he should regain his composure and act as if he had never feared that they would nullify his contract. He took a deep breath and forced the colour back into his cheeks.

 

*

 

Natasha kissed Clint on the cheek, as she always did, and said a civil goodbye to Loki. Clint saw her as far as the end of the corridor then she insisted she could make her own way, so he returned to find Loki loitering in the doorway like a puppy that had expected to be chastised.

  
“...What?” Clint asked, immediately suspicious. Loki swallowed and took a step forwards, putting his arms around Clint and briefly holding him tight, before stepping back as if nothing had happened.

 

“Thank you.” Said Loki, cutting across Clint's confused stammering. “For making her be careful with my life.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one, because I am a busy lady! 
> 
> If you're interested in gay space pirates, you should maybe follow my writing Tumblr, l-a-felton.tumblr.com, where I will be posting next month's Camp NaNoWriMo as I write it. Should be fun!


	36. The Cool Embrace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Camp NaNoWriMo tomorrow! If you like the idea of gay space pirates, follow me on l-a-felton.tumblr.com, where I'll be posting as I write. 
> 
> As for this, you get an update of many parts - I wrote various parts of this at different times, and they all seemed to fit here. So, there you go.
> 
> During Camp, this fic will update weekly. I promise.

“You're far too affectionate with him.”

 

“I'm far to what with who?” Clint said, mouth half full of bagel. Natasha had dragged him out of his flat for breakfast, away from keenly listening ears, to scold him, and he was going to make it as difficult for her as possible.

 

“Clint!” She impatiently snapped her fingers in front of his face to try and draw his attention away from the cyclist going past in too-tight trousers. He rolled his eyes and turned to her, taking another huge mouthful of bagel. She hadn't touched hers.

 

They had gone to the place on the corner, where the server knew Clint's name (Natasha always felt a little uncomfortable about this, he could tell, but he never made any attempt to make himself less obvious) and they had the best smoked salmon this side of... well, anywhere, in Clint's opinion. Natasha didn't seem to mind, as long as the server didn't look at her twice and she never had to go there again – she had a thing about going places twice that Clint would never understand.

 

“Sorry, sorry. I'm too _affectionate_ with him?” Clint furrowed his brows over the top of his bagel. Natasha lowered his hand to prevent him from taking another bite.

 

“ _Yes_.” She said, mirroring his tone. “If it was just one way I wouldn't be worried, but every time he touches you, you touch him back.”

  
“I what?” Clint said, feigning distraction in another female, this one a jogger in a crop top and yoga pants. Natasha sighed and shook her head.

 

“I know this is hard for you, being programmed one way for so long -”

 

“I'm not _programmed_.” Clint narrowed his eyes, tone suddenly venomous. “Natasha, how _dare_ you?”

 

“Clint, let me finish -”

 

“No, you're not going to bring all this up again just because I can be a bit touchy-feely. Yes, it _was_ hard for me, but I am _over it._ ”

 

“I'm not saying -”

 

“ _Over. It._ ” He said, already walking away. Natasha's shoulders dropped in defeat, eyes dropping to the pavement.

 

*

 

If he leaned out the window at exactly the right angle, Loki could see Clint with Natasha at the food-stand, deep in conversation. She was poison and he knew it, but Clint kept submitting to her like some puppy returning to an abusive master, and watching her touch Clint's hand was almost overwhelming. He swallowed hard before returning his eyes to the scene; they were arguing, maybe, it was hard to tell at this distance, but now Clint was walking away. She wasn't following him. _Good_.

 

*

 

“Fuckin' Tasha.” Clint mumbled under his breath, key slipping over the lock as his hands shook with anger. “Fuckin' stupid Tasha, sticking her face in where I don't need it...” He got the key into the lock on the second try, door swinging open to find the flat as he left it; he wasn't surprised, only he was because whenever he left Loki alone he expected to come home to mayhem. Instead he found the god perched on the only armchair in his living room, nose deep in the book he had been reading when he left.

 

“You were talking to yourself.” Loki said, simply, turning the page and not raising his eyes from the book. “Something happen?”

 

“Yes. I mean, no, I mean... fuck.” Clint fell over his words, tongue spilling them forth without much consideration from his head, and his shoulders dropped. He looked up to the ceiling and sighed. “Tasha thinks... You know what, forget it.” He threw his coat onto the hook on the back of the door and turned to storm into the kitchen.

 

Loki stood up, crossed the room in two quick steps, and caught his hand. Clint froze, Natasha's words suddenly flooding back to him.

 

*

 

Loki did nothing without calculating it down to the last millisecond, playing out every possible scenario in his head before coming to a solid decision over the course of action which would best advance him. He made this decision in a split second, without forethought, catching Clint's hand at the last possible moment before the man slammed the door between them.

  
“Hey.” He said, gently, squeezing Clint's hand when he froze. “Stop.” He spoke slowly, softly, long fingers closing around Clint's cold palm as the man stayed solid, unmoving. “I'm going to let go of your hand. Then I'm going to wrap my arms around you. Okay?”

 

Clint managed the tiniest of nods, somehow finding the strength to turn and face Loki. The god looked at him with a mix of sadness and understanding, before opening his arms and allowing Clint to step into the embrace. Clint did so, tentatively placing his arms around Loki's waist.

 

“Okay.” 


	37. The Contract

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update? What the Hell?

That night Clint didn't sleep; he could still feel the coolness of Loki's fingertips around his palm, the weight of his arms around Clint's shoulders as he had held him. Natasha's words kept playing back in his mind as he watched her face swim against the inside of his closed eyelids. _He was too affectionate with him._

 

_No_ . Clint thought, resolutely, as he rolled over in a determined effort to get some sleep. It wasn't  _him_ that was too affectionate. It was _Loki_ . He clutched at his bedspread, as if clinging onto the idea would somehow cause him to sleep better – he was wrong, of course, and spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, his mind switching between Natasha's stern face and the feel of Loki's palm in his. 

 

Loki slept peacefully on the sofa, unworried, even secure in his position.

 

*

 

The phone rang at nine fifteen, rudely cutting through the rough sleep Clint had managed to fall into somewhere in the early hours of the morning. His palms tingled, as if he could still feel the ghost of someone touching them, but he paid it no mind as he pulled the covers down from over his head and grabbed the telephone. He mumbled something incomprehensible into the receiver.

 

“Clint, it's Natasha.” Her voice, always level and calm and annoyingly _awake_ no matter what the hour, rang in Clint's ears. 

 

Clint said something which, to the trained ear, sounded like “what do you want?”. 

 

“We've got a handle on Thor, and we're bringing him in to find out more about the terms of this contract.” Clint groaned into the phone and rolled over, pressing the phone between the pillow and his face. He wondered why Tasha had decided it necessary to call and tell him so early in the morning. “Don't be like that.” Natasha snapped, as if she could read his thoughts. “I thought you'd like to know.”

 

“Thanks.” Said Clint, voice like a gravel pit. 

 

“I'll see you later?”

 

“Do I have a choice?” The corner of Clint's mouth tried to smile, but the rest of his being wouldn't let it. 

 

“No. I'll bring breakfast, so put some pants on.” And with that, she hung up. Clint, knowing he would get no more sleep no matter how hard he tried, swung his legs out of bed and dragged himself into his dressing gown.

 

*

 

Loki was awake when Clint brought him coffee, sitting upright on the sofa and bundled up in his blankets like a cocoon, and staring wistfully out the window to the traffic-jammed streets below. Somewhere else in the apartment block a radio played, the DJ warning New Yorkers about the gridlock they already knew was happening, his voice drifting into the apartment from upstairs. One of Loki's strong yet delicate hands took the coffee cup, even though he found it impossible to understand why Midgardians would drink something so bitter and dark, and Clint sat himself down on the other end of the sofa.

 

“Your brother's in town.” He said, and Loki found this to be a strange way of saying 'good morning'. 

 

“Why are you telling me this?” He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, making a show of attempting to read Clint. Clint remained stony; the man obviously hadn't slept, and the fact that Thor would soon be paying them a visit did not seem to please him. 

 

“Because,” Clint shrugged his shoulders and took a large mouthful of coffee “I thought you'd be pleased to hear it.” 

 

Loki took a deep breath and looked away, turning his attentions back out of the window. 

 

“We're going to get him to look at your contract. See if you can 'repay Midgard' somehow.” The DJ upstairs was now playing the flavour of the month; Loki had become accustomed to the tune, given how loud upstairs had their radio, and it was cheery and unfitting for the tableaux on the sofa. Clint took another mouthful of coffee, as if he were using it to avoid saying something, before he sighed and decided he had to say it anyway. “We're thinking of bringing SHIELD in, too.”

 

Loki's eyes snapped back to Clint, hard and cold but just a little bit fearful. He had not been expecting to hear that. 

 

“SHIELD?” He asked, as if he did not follow Clint's logic, doing everything he could to keep that fear under control. 

 

“Yeah. You need to 'repay Midgard',” Clint made little air-quotes with his free hand, again “And they've got the resources to help you do that.” He looked at Loki, properly, for the first time that morning; the god was paler than usual. “I'm not handing you over.” Clint said, almost defensively. “This is why we're getting big brother to go over the contract. Whole thing has gotta be water tight before we do anything.” 

 

“That's... reassuring.” Loki said, not quite able to meet Clint's eye. He took a small sip of coffee, acidity burning his silver tongue, before withdrawing into himself. Clint finished his coffee in one gulp and retreated to the kitchen.

 


	38. The Agreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update? Craziness.

Clint, whilst not wanting to leave Loki alone in his apartment, wanted to be present when Thor went over the document. He had handed the contract to Natasha, who had put it in an inconspicuous back-pack and then taken it halfway across New York to a SHIELD safe-house. He felt both as if a great weight had been lifted and as if another had been added; without the contract looming over his every interaction with Loki his senses were so sharp it was tiring. So now he paced the flat, unable to sit still, mobile phone pressed to the side of his head with his left hand whilst his right massaged his forehead. Loki sat still, rigid as if every muscle were tensed, curled like a python in his armchair. Eventually Clint had to tell him to relax.

 

“I will if you do.” Was all Loki said, glaring at Clint as he walked the same path across the floorboards of the apartment as he had been doing all morning. He bit the nails of his free hand, listening intently in case someone on the other end of the phone said something. All he could hear was silence, cut with the occasional rustle of parchment as Thor, or perhaps Natasha, pored over the document. He could also hear, in the silence, Fury's stern face, although the very concept of being able to hear someone's presence seemed ridiculous even to him. His index finger started bleeding. He stopped biting it and switched back to his thumb.

 

“What you wish to do with my brother,” Said Thor, distant as if he were standing some way from the phone which undoubtedly lay in the middle of the table “Seems acceptable.” There was a quiet relief in his tone, almost undetectable, but Clint was sure he heard it.

 

“Then you're free to go.” Said Fury, voice as loud and as close as it ever was, making the hairs on the back of Clint's neck stand up as if he were about to be scolded.

 

“SHIELD thanks you for your cooperation.” Said Natasha, ever the professional, before saying in a calmer, quieter tone, “And I know Clint does too. Thank you.”

 

There was a rustling of paper and of feet on bare floorboards, then the shutting of a door, before Natasha's voice came clear through the following silence.

 

“Did you hear all that, Clint?” She asked, voice more conversational than it had been in the room, as if she were trying to calm him down with her easy nature.

 

“Loud and clear.” He looked up at Loki, whose eyes hadn't left him since he had stopped his pacing in the middle of the living room. “So where do we start?”

  
“Give me time to put some things in motion. I'll be in touch.”

 

*

 

“It's good news.” Clint's shoulders relaxed for the first time that day, and he felt as if he could suddenly fall asleep where he stood. Loki's eyes did not soften; instead the god uncoiled himself and stood up to his full height, jaw set. Clint took a deep breath, metal of the gun down the waistband of his trousers suddenly cold.

 

But something terrible did not happen; Loki threw his arms around Clint, without warning, and Clint froze but immediately softened when he felt hot tears fall onto his shoulder.

 

“ _Thank you_.” 

 

“S'okay.” Clint said, awkwardly patting Loki on the back but genuinely smiling. Loki kissed him on the cheek, chaste, warm, a genuine explosion of gratitude as he squeezed Clint tightly once more before releasing him. Clint's cheek did not burn at the touch of his lips.

 


	39. The Shelter

His hair tied back, with fashionably-faded jeans and a generic band t-shirt on, the god standing before Clint was barely recognisable. The only thing that would betray him were his eyes, glinting in the weak morning sunlight, a more sharp and brilliant green than was acceptable, but Clint doubted anyone would be looking that closely. He handed Loki the final piece of his new persona, a pair of Doc Martin's in polished vinyl black; they gave the god unwelcome extra height, but now there was no god standing in front of him, no more games, no more resentment for positions once held and now lost. Just an early-thirties punk rock kid, lanky and pale and _human_. Clint smiled.

 

“And you are sure this is how Midgardians dress?” Loki asked, twisting to look at himself from every angle. It suddenly occurred to Clint that the god had never seen someone in jeans who wasn't Natasha.

 

“Yeah, I'm sure. C'mon.” The car would arrive to pick them up at ten-thirty sharp. It was ten-twenty.

 

*

 

SHIELD operated transport was always on the edge of luxury – a long way from the worn if serviceable people-mover Loki had been bundled into, bound, on his second day in bondage, the car had leather seats and air conditioning, welcome in the summer heat already starting to build. He had opened the door and got in without instruction, without order or word from Clint; it was almost like being a free man again.

 

“We have a phrase, here on Earth,” Clint said, halfway through the journey as the car took them further and further out of the centre of New York “'Acts of God'. You know what that means?” Loki shook his head, although he could almost predict where this is going. “Well most people have insurance to protect them against their houses being destroyed, but that insurance don't cover Acts of God. 'Course, it was more literal this time.” He said, not looking at Loki but straight out of the window behind him at the passing suburbs. “You did a lot of damage.” Clint said, simply, and Loki pursed his lips. “You'll see what I mean.”

 

The car pulled up outside a Catholic church, gilded, ornate, but somehow humble in its existence, standing in the middle of a crowded suburb and surrounded by apartment blocks, a spiritual haven of green grass, crocuses, and a spire reaching into the heavens; Loki had to tip his head all the way back to even begin to see the top of it. Clint's door slammed shut just after Loki's, and almost immediately, as if it had never existed, the car disappeared around the corner and off into obscurity. Loki swallowed.

 

“You got insurance in Asgard?” Clint asked, tilting his head to match Loki's gaze towards the top of the church.

 

“Yes.” Said Loki, throat dry at the thought of home. The sight of the church almost reminded him of it, although there were no buildings exactly like the one that stood in front of him in Asgard; it was as close to home as he had been, with the grass beneath his boots and the summer breeze blowing strands of untameable hair out of his face. Clint took off his sunglasses and looked at Loki, eyebrows furrowed.

 

“Does it protect the rich and punish the poor?”

 

“I suppose you could say that.” Said Loki, wondering why the conversation was growing ever more cryptic, and wondering even more what lay beyond the large, wooden doors of the church.

 

“That's kinda what happened here.” Clint put a hand on Loki's shoulder, not in a show of solidarity, but in an attempt to add weight to his statement. “C'mon,” He said, taking steps towards the door “Let's go see the real damage you caused.”

 

*

 

Clint knocked twice on the right of the double doors, banging hard to be heard through the solid oak. A moment passed, then the door creaked inwards.

 

“Hello!” Said a bright, cheery, if elderly voice from inside. Loki's eyes took a moment to adjust to the comparative darkness inside the church; standing before them was an old woman, perhaps half Loki's full height, but not frail in her age as she greeted them with open arms and a warm smile. “You must be our new volunteers!”

 

“That's us.” Said Clint, extending a hand to the woman who instead pulled him into a tight, grandmotherly embrace. “I'm Clint, this is, uh, Lewis.” Loki made no move, no show of surrender but also none of resistance, as the woman turned to him and hugged him in turn.

 

“Well, Clint and Lewis, welcome to our humble abode! It's not much, but it's home, for now.” The woman smiled wistfully before turning into the darkness, and Clint followed her, motioning that Loki should do likewise. He stepped over the threshold, boots silent against the terracotta-tiled floor, and took the inside of the church in. The stained glass glinted off of what was left of the religious relics – most had been moved aside and covered in drop cloths, to make way for makeshift beds made up on the floor. There was a children's play area, where another elderly woman, perhaps not as old as their host, was singing rhymes with the children gathered there. There was also a long queue of adults, all with their heads down and a darkness in their features, heading off towards a hatch in the side wall of the building. “We'll get you on kitchen duty in a moment... Yes, hold on dear!” The old woman called, towards the woman tending the children, in response to the shout of her name. She disappeared between the beds, and Loki turned to Clint.

 

“Thank you for giving a false name.” He said, voice so low it was barely audible.

 

“No worries.” Said Clint, with a shrug of his shoulders, “You're name is now the sound of these people's suffering. It would have been a tactical disaster to mention it.” Half a smile touched his face as the woman came bustling back, pulling the t-shirt she wore over her dress straight. Loki chanced to read it: _New York Association for Homelessness_.

 

“Come along, now, this way!” The woman called, leading them through the maze of beds and personal belongings towards the hatch the adults were receiving their lunches from. “I'm afraid all the glamorous jobs have been taken, but we always need people to wash up!”

 

“Absolutely not a problem.” Said Clint, half a glance at Loki who was lingering behind them. The look on the god's face was unreadable, and if Clint didn't know him so well he might have called it sorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as far as I know, two people are reading this fic. TWO. Oh how the mighty have fallen.
> 
> But seriously thanks guys, you're the best <3


	40. The Realisation

****

It was weird, Clint noticed, elbow-deep in lukewarm soapy water, to see Loki actually _do_ something. And not just anything, something positively constructive. He had expected no end of complaining, of snide remarks, of insolence, when the kindly old lady running the centre (she was either an Audrey or an Angie, Clint couldn't remember) had put them on washing up duty. But instead Loki had kept his head down, simply nodding his understanding as if the sound of his voice might make the lady click as to exactly where she had seen him before (because Clint knew the look in her eyes; she _did_ recognise him, but she couldn't place him). It had taken him a few dishes to get into his stride, but after that there was nothing to suggest that the god of mischief wasn't actually the god of clean cutlery. Loki glanced sideways to catch Clint staring.

 

“I am surprised,” Loki said, momentarily breaking eye-contact to put a plate on the drainer, “But I am actually enjoying this.” He wasn't sure why, if it was the change in air or the chatter of the other bus-boys in the kitchen as they constantly brought them plates and bowls, but something had changed. Clint smiled a dry smile and looked the god up and down.

 

“I thought you were getting into it.” He pulled the plug in the sink and let the water drain, before turning the hot tap to refill the basin, shaking excess soap suds from his hands. The slightest of smiles touched the corner of Loki's mouth and it changed his whole countenance; the enjoyment he stated he was experiencing was suddenly evident, and Clint was suddenly aware of the ease with which he now stood; his heart lightened, and a weight he hadn't realised he was carrying began easing.

 

“But I still do not quite understand...” Loki mused, pausing with his weight against the edge of the sink, stretching his long arms first in front of him then above his head, “I mean, I must wash a lot of dishes before the whole of Midgard is repaid.” He smiled, for the first time, without malice or agenda; genuine and warm and enough to make Clint look away. Clint buried his head and busied himself with the fresh wave of dishes appearing before them.

 

“This isn't about you repaying Earth. Not really, anyway.” Clint said, half-mumbling, as his hand slipped and he almost dropped a bowl.

 

“Then what?” Loki's tone was genuine as he turned his focus back to the washing up and, much to Clint's relief, away from the archer.

 

“It's about getting you to appreciate what you did.” Clint's shoulders fell, not in resignation but, for the first time since Loki had arrived, because he had relaxed. “Because between us? It's complicated. Always will be. But maybe, if you saw people other than me who you'd hurt, you'd get it.”

 

Loki exhaled slowly, turning his eyes towards the ceiling as he dried his hands on a nearby towel, each move as deliberate as it was brilliant as Clint watched him out of the corner of his eye. Loki shut his eyes, voice shaking as he spoke.

 

“I get it.”


	41. The Admission

Long after the queue of people had subsided and the last of the lunch had been served, their shift ended. This time it was a different kindly older lady who spoke to them, but still with the same, overly-bright, slightly too-loud of a voice.

 

“And that's time!” She had approached behind them, footsteps hidden by the clatter of dishes being put back into the kitchen's many cupboards, and Clint turned on her with his hand over his beating heart.

 

“Jeez!” He started, but seeing the smile beaming up at him made him stop and reconsider. “Sorry, just... Forget it.” He smiled at her, lowering his hand uselessly to his side, as Loki put the last of the dishes away and leaned against the counter.

 

“Didn't mean to make you jump, dearie.” She put a hand on his arm and gave it a sharp squeeze, with a forced tenderness almost enough to make Clint flinch; he could feel Loki smirking behind him. It must be hard, he would reflect during the drive back, to show that much compassion all the time, so he had to forgive her the edge to her kindness. “We can handle it from here!” She sang, waving the pair out of the kitchen. “Same time next week?”

 

“Yes for him, no for me.” Clint said, motioning to Loki with a jab of his thumb. “Gotta go back to work.” He added, mostly to his shoes, for the glare from the woman at his audacity to abandon his washing-up post was enough to set him on fire. He could, again, feel Loki smirking.

 

*

 

It wasn't a faceless SHIELD agent who picked them up but Natasha, driving a rental estate car with blacked out windows. Clint opened the door and got in the front, sitting down into the low-riding car; Loki, without word, sat behind him. Natasha put it in drive and pulled away.

 

“The rest of the week you get off.” She said, over her shoulder to Loki, matter-of-fact in her tone. “Then you're back here, same day same time. After that...” She tailed off, flashing her lights to let a soccer mum with a car full of kids out of a junction, “It's a busy schedule we've got you.”

 

“I understand.” Said Loki; Clint had almost forgotten he was there, jaw clenching at the sound of his voice but quickly relaxing again – Natasha may have noticed the slightness of this movement, but he doubted it, since she had her eyes firmly on the roadworks ahead. And then, Clint suddenly knew where he was.

 

“Drop us off at Mama Jo's. Next right.” Clint pointed across Natasha to the turning and she dutifully flipped her indicator on, slowing down to take the corner. They were three blocks from his apartment block, and Natasha didn't like leaving him so far from home; it gave Loki all the time in the world to try something, but still she slowed down in front of the red neon lights of the diner. Clint put his hand on the door handle, and Natasha put her hand on his knee. She shot him one warning look, not long enough for Loki to register it but enough for Clint to know she disapproved of whatever he was up to. Clint opened the door, refusing to acknowledge her concern.

 

*

 

Clint didn't know if Mama Jo was still alive, or even if she was a real person and not some marketing scam, but he did know that her diner served the best apple pie in New York, full stop. They took a booth near the back, away from the windows and away from the prying eyes of other diners (who were more than willing to show their disapproval at the sight of the two bedraggled, slightly damp, men). Loki playfully assured Clint that they did, indeed, have pies in Asgard, but Clint still noticed the glimmer of curiosity in his eye when he ordered both their portions to come with ice-cream. A busty, blonde waitress, whose uniform did not leave enough to the imagination, brought them their coffee and microwaved pie five minutes of silence later.

 

“So you are hoping,” Loki started, breaking the silence, moving his ice-cream around the plate with his fork, “That if you show Asgard I have understood the gravity of my actions, and help those most disadvantaged by them, that your world will see my debts repaid?”

 

“Right on the money.” Clint said, through a mouthful of pie. “What you did was still terrible, like the worst crime imaginable by human standards. But,” He shrugged, putting down his fork to punctuate his sentence, “I figure if they can put prisoners through rehab, why not you?”

 

“I heard there was no second chance for murderers in your world.” Said Loki, almost conversationally, but Clint could see the storminess in his eyes as he sectioned a piece of pie with his fork but made no move to eat it. Clint swallowed, and put his hand over Loki's.

 

“You know I can't do that.” He squeezed Loki's hand and the god looked up at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion despite all the past reassurances. “It's you. And, at the end of the day,” Clint cleared his throat will a little more aggression than necessary and let go of Loki's hand, as if he had only just become aware that he was holding it, “I once adored you.”

 

Loki folded his hands and appeared with withdraw into himself - whereas Clint seemed to take up more space, like a cornered and frightened house-cat. Then he pulled his wallet from his pocket and threw a handful of change on the table.

 

“I-I'm sorry.” Was all Clint could manage, before he pushed himself up with frightening force – enough to spill his coffee – and, before Loki had chance to turn his head to follow Clint's path, he was gone.

 


	42. The Telephone Number

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a signature Double Update!

Loki was acutely aware that he didn't know where he was.

 

The waitress had come over, face a picture of concern, and was leaning over the table wiping up spilt coffee.

 

“Something wrong with your date, hon?” She said to him, chewing loudly on gum between wipes of the now-dirty cloth against the red vinyl table. Loki was still looking to where Clint had ran past, towards the glass-and-chrome door, wishing the man to come back. His chest was tight with worry but an indignant snarl was on his lips; he had been abandoned. The waitress stopped her tidying and looked at him, hand on hip, still chewing her bubblegum. “At least he paid, huh?”

 

Loki looked stupidly at the money on the table, then up at the girl, who met his eyes with pity. He had to do it, had to chance using a voice that had once echoed across televisions world-wide, silver tongue like lead in his mouth.

 

“I'm... new to this town.” He said, voice low, feeling ridiculous as he smiled his charms at the waitress. “I don't exactly know how to get back.”

 

“Well,” She said, popping a pink bubble from between matching pink lips, “Where are you stayin'?”

 

*

 

Martha let the dark-haired stranger lead her outside through the front door, to the end of the block. He seemed uneasy in his Docs and faded jeans, as if he were apologetic for his height, for his gait, for the colour of his eyes which he kept firmly on the pavement in front of him until they reached the end of the street. There was something about him she could not place, something beautiful, something ancient, something that made her unashamedly attracted to him but which also made her want to shy away. The stranger looked up and to his left towards one of the many apartment buildings, unique only in that his eyes picked it out. She followed his gaze.

 

“To get to that block, you need to go left here and right at the abandoned theatre. Then just follow the street until the bagel stand.” She smiled, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder. “You gonna be okay?” She wasn't sure what made her ask – maybe the defeated look in his eye, maybe something else, something magical (she had always had a touch of the psychic about her, her grandmother had said so) – but she did anyway. She wasn't sure what she would do if he said he wasn't.

 

“Thank you for your help.” Was all he said, not even looking at her, not even acknowledging the touch of her hand. She withdrew it, a little hurt, and turned back towards the diner.

 

“Well, have a nice day.” She said, with the slightest of waves, both wanting to remain in his presence and wishing she had never followed him. He said nothing in return, choosing only to briefly smile, still unable to look at her. She turned back to the stranger, him still standing on the corner of the street, when she was halfway back to the diner. “Hey!”

 

She ran back, heels clacking against the pavement, pulling the pen she kept in her breast pocket free. She grabbed his hand, bright pink fingernails catching his soft palm. His jaw seemed to set and his shoulders almost hunch at her touch, as if he were expecting the worst, before he turned back to see it was her. He watched her with a growing curiosity as she flourished her pen in the air, before scribbling down a series of numbers of the back of his hand. It was a long-shot, and she knew it. He looked at the numbers as he might an antiquity in a museum.

  
“See you around, stranger.”

 

*

 

Clint had unlocked his apartment door and slammed it behind him again before he even realised what he had done. He cursed, loud enough for it to echo across the empty walls of the modest apartment, and the person upstairs stamped on their floor to show their distaste. He cursed them, too, although more quietly than before, pacing the length of the flat in a panicked daze. _What have I done. What have I said._

 

He got his thoughts together enough to realise that, from all the watching he did, Loki should know the streets around his apartment building. He wasn't stupid, far from it, and with any luck he'd either still be at the diner or making his way to Clint's block. He was, hopefully, not stupid enough to try running. Clint's heart skipped a beat when he realised that if he had run, he would have voided the contract. _If you've run, I'll kill you myself._

 

He put his hand on the door handle and immediately it swung inwards, making him jump out of his skin.

 

“You!”

 

Loki made a show of looking behind and around him.

 

“Were you expecting someone else?”

  
Clint might have slapped the smile off his face if he hadn't have looked so pleased with himself.

 

“Alright, that's fair. Come in, I guess.” Clint stepped aside and gestured like a butler might, letting Loki into the flat. He stepped across the threshold and Clint noticed his hand. “What's that?” It wasn't so much a question as it was a demand to know. Clint went to take his hand and drag the answer out of him, but halfway his mind thought better and he awkwardly stopped, head down. Loki noticed his display and lifted his hand for Clint to see.

 

“I don't actually know.” Loki said, tone light, as Clint stared in disbelief at the series of numbers. “The waitress wrote it on my hand.” He said, a little redundantly, for something to say in the silence now spanning between them.

 

“Unbelievable.” Was the only thing Clint could bring himself to mutter. 


	43. The Tipping of the Balance

Clint put his hands in his pockets and looked up at Loki, lips pressed together. He said nothing as he surveyed the god, the ghost of a storm in his eyes. It was gone as soon as Loki registered it, but it had been there. They both broke eye contact to look down at the numbers scrawled on the back of Loki's hand.

 

“She doesn't interest me.” The numbers seemed to burn into his skin as he looked down at them, the cheap pen now hardly legible. His tone was light, factual, like a news announcer might introduce the weatherman, and Clint sighed.

 

“It doesn't matter.” He said, attempting to dismiss the feeling that was brewing in his stomach. Because it didn't matter, not really, she was just a girl who neither of them knew, and besides, what did he care what interested Loki? He looked away.

 

“It feels like it does.” Loki put a delicate hand under Clint's chin and lifted it, forcing the man to drag his cloudy eyes from the floor to meet Loki's. Clint allowed his head to be moved by the god, caught up in his turbulent feelings, unsure what he wanted or what he was hoping for. It was as if Loki's hand was white hot, burning Clint's chin as his green eyes smouldered. There was a smile on his lips and an ease to his stance that made Clint's knees weak and his heart stop cold, his breath catch and his thoughts race _._

 

Loki's lips were not as soft as he remembered, nor his touch as poisonous, but still Clint's world stopped and his head swam with the force of the kiss. 

 

Clint was breathless, on the brink of panic, unable to believe himself. He desperately wanted to look away but there was something about the glint in Loki's eye which kept him steady. Suddenly he was no longer but a man, strands of hair falling into his face and band t-shirt still damp from washing-up water, but a god, true and brilliant and  _dangerous_ . 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Clint...


	44. The Three Days

Clint was not, entirely, sure what was happening. He knew that he stood, rooted to the floor of his living room, Loki's hand under his chin holding his face merely inches from the god's. There was something about Loki – perhaps the snarling smile touching his lips or the way his still-damp shirt clung to his frame – that kept Clint standing still. He didn't know why he didn't run, why he didn't pull the Beretta still down the back of his waistband and put some distance between Loki and himself, but he didn't; the only thing that existed was the hand beneath his chin and the chill in his chest and the god's burning, green eyes.

 

“Is this what interests you?” Clint asked, eye flitting nervously between meeting Loki's eyes and his inviting, all-encompassing smile.

 

“You've always interested me.”

 

“Not always.” Clint moved his head and shook free of Loki's hand. “You said so. You said I was chance.” He could not make eye-contact as he spoke, instead fixing his gaze on a spot on the floor left of Loki. His shoulders dropped and a sigh escaped his lips.

 

“Clint.” Loki put a hand on his cheek and turned his face, with a little more force than was truly necessary, Clint's eyes snapping back to the god's. “I came to know you; someone with a heart as troubled as yours could be nothing but interesting to me. We are not all that different.” He said, the ghost of a laugh marking his tone. “It hurts you to hear it but you know it to be true.”

 

“I guess so.” Was all Clint could manage. “So where does this go?”

 

Loki smiled, hand tracing down Clint's face.

 

*

 

Clint did not go to work the next day.

 

He did not go to work the following day, either, nor did he leave his bed, no matter how Loki tried to entice him with reheated food and poorly-made coffee. He was a man conflicted, scared, a man wondering if the nature of a person could truly be changed, or if they were set from birth until the day they died. More than that, he was a man torn because the battle between his head and the feeling in the pit of his stomach could not be silenced. He caught sight of his reflection on the display of his alarm clock and turned away in disgust.

 

On the third day, Loki knocked on Clint's door, glass of water in hand, and received no response. He waited, quiet, ear close to the door to try and determine if Clint was sleeping, before trying the handle. The door was unlocked, and Loki let himself in.

 

“Clint?”

 

The man was in his bed, where he had spent the past two days, blankets kicked everywhere and clothes unchanged. The air was stale and still, but Loki barely noticed; his senses were trained on Clint, who was barely breathing. Loki pressed his lips together and crossed the small distance between the door and the bed in a few steps.

 

“Clint.” He said, with a little more force, eliciting nothing but a soft grunt in response. “ _Wake up_.”

 

Clint opened glassy eyes to stare at the ceiling rather than look at Loki.

 

“What do you want.”

 

“For you to drink this, to begin with.” Loki walked around the bed to stand over Clint, extending the glass of water to him. Clint turned his face away. “ _Barton_. _Drink this._ ”

 

There was something in Loki's tone which made Clint drag himself to sitting, and he immediately felt sick from the effort and the way he had acquiesced. He begrudgingly took the glass of water and drank a mouthful.

 

“Anything else?” Clint asked, bitterly, handing the glass back, lying down, and turning over so he didn't have to look at the god. Loki narrowed his eyes and exhaled sharply.

 

“You really have no right.” He said, putting the glass down on Clint's bedside table before folding his long arms. “If I recall,” He growled, “ _You_ kissed _me._ ”

 

“I've made some bad choices.” Clint mumbled into his pillow, attempting to go back to sleep, hoping that Loki would leave him to his misery. He didn't, instead he sat himself down on the end of Clint's bed.

 

“Believe it or not,” Loki said, swallowing, “But I understand your feeling towards me.”

 

“How could you _possibly_?” Clint turned his head to shoot Loki a glare, before throwing his head back down on the pillow.

 

“Do not be dramatic.” Loki snapped, immediately regretting his choice of tone as Clint tensed. He softened, putting a hand on Clint's knee. “You think you're the first to be conflicted? To feel so deeply but so repulsed?”

 

“And I suppose you've felt like that.” Clint said, again mostly to his pillow, pulling one of the blankets up over his head. Loki grabbed a handful of blanket and pulled it down enough to reveal Clint's face.

 

“I have been alive a while, it would be naïve to think otherwise.”

 

Clint sighed, pushing himself up to sitting, but still unable to look directly at Loki. He took the glass of water from the side and drank another mouthful of his own accord, and Loki smiled. 


	45. The Invasion

When Clint didn't turn up for work the first day, Coulson was surprised but not concerned. He made excuses for Clint, as he always did, as he always would – he knew Clint sometimes needed a day to himself, and perhaps the prospect of a first day back would be too much for him to handle – but when Clint did not show the second or third days, he began to worry. It started slowly, a creeping feeling in the pit of his stomach that something wasn't right, and he checked all of Clint's usual haunts – the shooting range, the SHIELD-controlled gyms about the city, even Mama Jo's, and when he came across no trace of Clint (except from an overly-friendly waitress at Mama Jo's, who seemed to remember a man fitting Clint's description coming in with a taller, more handsome man) he found himself beginning to panic. He rang Agent Romanov, and she said she hadn't heard from Clint since she had dropped him off at the diner days before. It was then that it occurred to him to try Clint's phone.

 

*

 

Clint groaned at the ear-splitting ring of his mobile. He had been asleep, not unusual given his state over the past three days, and he turned his face away from the sound. The door of his room opened and Loki stepped in, another glass of water in his hand. He too seemed to flinch away from the noise.

 

“Are you going to answer that?” He asked Clint, who firmly closed his eyes in response. Loki put the glass of water down next to the ringing phone and examined the screen. “It says Coulson.” He said, voice steady but tone dark.

  
“Let it ring.” Clint said, voice muffled by the blanket he had pulled over his head.

 

*

 

When Clint didn't answer his phone, he rang Natasha again. Her tone seemed to blacken and he could see the storm in her eyes as she swore to do _whatever it took_ to find out where Clint was. Coulson tried to placate her but she simply hung up on him; he sighed, rubbing his forehead where the slightest of headaches was starting to form, and knew whatever awaited her at Clint's flat would require his help. He checked his service weapon – fully loaded – and sent her a text to let her know he would meet her at Clint's place. 

 

*

 

There was a sharp and demanding knock on the front door. Loki looked up from the magazine he had been flicking through and slowly unfolded himself from Clint's armchair. He stretched and stood up, bare feet cold against the wooden floor, and walked over to Clint's bedroom door.

 

“Clint?” He called through the door, and received no response. He exhaled sharply and pushed the door open; Clint was still sleeping off his misery, and obviously had no desire to get up and answer the knock. Whoever was at the door knocked again, more forcefully, and a woman's voice echoed “Clint?” through the wood. _Romanov_. 

 

Loki walked to the door, footsteps silent and hairs on his neck prickling, and stood firm, the only thing between him and the agent on the other side a slim piece of wood and an easily-picked lock. There was a quiet exchange on the other side of the door – she had brought someone with her, which only made Loki more on-edge – before the clinking of lock-picks.

 

“I'm going to count to three, Clint, then we're coming in.” 

 

“There's no need.” Loki said, voice calm, measured, as he put his hand over the lock. He turned it and waited a heartbeat before turning the handle of the door and letting it swing open. He took half a step back when he was greeted with the barrel of Natasha's gun. 

 

“Step aside, Loki.” She said, sights firmly over his heart and eyes not wavering from his own. Behind her he could see the shadow of Agent Coulson, his face grey and his eyes searching the room beyond Loki's shoulder. Loki took a breath and a step backwards and Natasha stepped into the room, taking one hand off the grip of her gun to grab his wrist and twist his arm behind his back. “Try anything and I'll break it.” She said, retraining her gun on the base of his spine, pressing the metal into his flesh, cold even through the shirt he was wearing. Coulson stepped into the flat only once Loki was restrained, immediately stepping through the living room to the small corridor connecting the room to the rest of the flat. 

 

“This is unnecessary.” Loki managed, through gritted teeth, but Romanov only tightened her grip, making him draw a sharp breath in. 

 

*

 

Clint dragged himself to standing, wrapping one of the thinner blankets around himself to protect himself from the chill of being out of bed. Wearing nothing but a three-day old t-shirt and a pair of boxers, he walked towards his bedroom door, cautious but not afraid of whatever lay beyond it. He could hear voices but could not determine who they were, although one was definitely Loki, and it didn't sound good. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

 

“Clint!” Coulson looked as if he could cry as he threw his arms around the bedraggled Clint, holding him close. “It's okay, Clint. We've got you.” 

 

“Got me?” Clint pulled away from the embrace, confusion and anger melding into one maelstrom of emotion. “I don't need 'getting'.” 

 

“But we -”

 

“No. Whatever you've done,” He broke away from Coulson, throwing the blanket on the floor and pushing his handler aside, “I didn't need it.”

 

*

 

Natasha's eyes softened when she caught sight of Clint; messy, unshaven, but  _okay_ . Loki felt her loosen her grip just enough to stop him fearing his shoulder would dislocate. 

 

“Natasha...” His tone was tired, more so than if he hadn't just been not sleeping, and his shoulders fell as he took in the tableaux in his living room. “Let him go.” 

 

Natasha lowered her gun but did not let go. 

 

“Clint, we thought -”

 

“Enough.” Clint held up a hand to stop her mid-sentence. She shut her mouth and narrowed her eyes. “I don't care what you thought. Let him go. _Now_.”

 

Natasha bitterly let Loki go, almost throwing him across the room with the force of her action. She slipped her gun back in its holster and looked uselessly across the room at Clint. 

 

“Explain. Right now.” She said, eyes cold, tone betrayed. Coulson appeared behind Clint and the two exchanged a glance; Clint might have argued it, but instead he sighed and wrapped his arms around himself, looking anywhere but at Natasha. 

 

“What is there to explain?”

 

“You didn't answer your phone, you haven't been to work...” Natasha gestured at the flat, at Loki, with a sweep of her arm. “You get me to drop you off at some dead-end diner with _him_ and you let him answer the door?” Her voice was rising and Clint could see the anger, and the fear, burning in her eyes. “What happened, Clint?” 

 

Coulson put a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. 

 

“Nothing. Now get out.” 

 

“ _Excuse me_?” Natasha crossed the distance between she and Clint in two steps, bringing their faces so close he could feel her breathe. It wasn't often she lost her control, her composure, and Clint did not want to deal with her anger.

 

“I said, _get out._ ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, CLINT...


	46. The Kiss

Natasha stormed out the flat when Clint asked but Coulson was more insistent, pleading with Clint to explain what had happened and to let him stay and help him. Clint shook off his friendly hand yet again, eyes on the floor and ever-aware of exactly how small the flat was.

“Phil, please.” Clint sighed, the use of his first name enough to make his handler stop. “I'm fine. We're fine. Now just...” He gestured uselessly at the door, hand falling limply at his side, as Coulson slowly took his sunglasses out of his pocket.

“Alright,” He put his sunglasses on, which had as much to do with the sunlight outside as it did from hiding his emotive eyes from Clint, “You call if you need us, okay?” Clint nodded his understanding and Coulson was left with nothing more to say; he left, with one last venomous, threatening look at Loki, leaving the two alone once again in the flat. Clint put his head in his hands, shoulders shaking but tears refusing to fall. _What was he doing?_

Loki crossed the space between them, small and uncharacteristically humble, coming to stand in front of the shaking Clint.

“If it would be alright,” Said Loki, and even though his voice was barely more than a whisper it still shook the walls of the flat, “I'm going to put my arms around you.” He waited a few seconds but Clint said nothing, did not even move, seeming to stop even his shaking. Loki pressed his lips together and took half a step forwards, knowing that if he was wrong the likelihood of Clint completely distrusting him (not to mention breaking his cheekbone from the force of a punch) would be high. The situation was delicate, and whilst Loki was nothing but finesse personified there was so much more than his own personal gratification hanging in the balance. He put his arms around Clint's shoulders.

Immediately Clint moved and Loki's eyes widened; he had been wrong, he had misjudged, and now his world would fall apart, he was sure. He considered withdrawing, reflexively, as if it had never happened. He relaxed his arms and went to step back but found himself held in place. Clint had put his hands around his waist, and was not letting him go.

*

Loki would have held Clint until the end of eternity, but a few minutes was more than Clint could bear. It was as if the god had become fire in his hands, burning his skin. He responded by becoming tense in Loki's hands, wishing to step away but wanting to remain close.

“You need not be afraid.” Loki's hands found Clint's face, long fingers stroking his cheeks and holding his head steady with a gentle coercion so he was forced to meet Loki's eye.

“I know.” Clint said, voice breaking just a little bit. “Because as much as I hate it, you're the closest I've ever come to love.”

*

A hot shower, a change of clothes, and a cup of coffee later, and Clint looked more like himself than he had done since he had left Loki in Mama Jo's days before. He appeared from the kitchen, coffee already half-drunk, and the sight of him was enough to make Loki smile. He got up from where he had been sitting and crossed the space between them, as Clint finished his coffee and held the empty mug uselessly, a shield between the two of them. Loki plucked it from his hands and put it on the nearby side-table.

Clint took Loki by the hand, his own hands warm from the residual heat of the mug against the natural cool of Loki's skin, and for the first time in three days looked up at him. His eyes were warm but not entirely comfortable, his face otherwise unreadable as he held the god's hand. Loki pushed his hair out of his face, suddenly very aware of the way it was falling, only to have Clint's other hand come up to meet his. Clint tucked the hair behind Loki's ear, hand tracing the line of his jaw. He gripped Loki's hand tighter, grounding himself, as his lips brushed those of the god standing in front of him. A breath he didn't know he had been holding loosened in his chest and he was breathless, very aware of the lack of space between their bodies and the cold softness of Loki's skin and the hand which was gripping his back tightly.

A kiss, more certain, less tentative, was all the indication Loki needed; he pulled Clint close, one hand finding his waist, other letting go of his hand to caress his neck. He held Clint for a moment steady, eyes lost in those of the archer, before insistently, viciously, kissing him back.

Clint could not catch his breath, panic rising in his chest as he pushed it back down towards the warm knot that was forming in the pit of his stomach, knowing he could well be being manipulated but absolutely not caring. He was aware of the parallel, of the last time Loki kissed him and how it had ended, but his will could not say no to the god holding him, kissing him, keeping him close. Panic attacks could come later, he decided, because right now, for the first time in a long time, he was enjoying himself.


	47. The Apology

Clint's back hit the wall with startling force but he hardly felt anything; his head was hazy with the rush of having one of his hands pinned above his head, the other around Loki's waist as the god used his free hand to trace the muscles of Clint's chest. His touch was characteristically demanding but also light, delicate, with a grace befitting a prince and a chill befitting a Frost Giant. Clint was not as graceful as he pulled Loki closer to him by his hips, their bodies touching from their thighs to their chests as they exchanged biting, vicious kisses. Clint could still not catch his breath, with it coming in gulps and gasps, but it hardly seemed to matter as Loki's kisses moved to his jaw and down his neck.

 

*

 

Clint was suddenly very aware of his surroundings.

 

It was dark; at some point the afternoon had turned to dusk, casting long shadows across the ceiling at which he was now staring. He was on his back, in his bed, most of the covers gone save for the one that was shielding his bare legs from the cold. He was wearing nothing but his boxers. He was very aware of the weight over his hips, pinning him down.

 

“Clint?”

 

A shadow a person, just out of sight, with a voice which sounded like it was miles away, was speaking to him. He swallowed but his mouth remained dry, and his mind remained blank as to what he might say in response to his name.

 

He knew he should try and move. He knew that, if he could gather enough force from within himself, he could throw whoever was on his hips onto their backs, giving him enough time to grab his service weapon, if he needed to. He could not find enough reserves to try.

 

“ _Clint_.” 

 

The shadow which held him down, just out of sight, came into his line of vision; hair falling down in front of its face, casting its features into darkness. The voice was familiar, frightfully so. The figure leaned forwards and a hand put its palm against Clint's cheek. A tear fell from the corner of his eye, down his face to the fingertips which caressed him. The figure used its other hand to push its hair back and Loki's face came into focus; Clint reflexively tried to move back, into the pillow and away from the god, and immediately Loki withdrew, sitting up over Clint's hips. He repositioned his weight and Clint was free; immediately he scrambled up to sitting and pushed himself towards the edge of the bed, away from the god who perched on his knees next to him, eyes dark with concern. 

 

*

 

“You gotta understand,” Clint took another gulp of air, trying to get his heart rate to drop, “Last time you had me on my back, I was... I was... _shit_...” His breathing grew rapid and uncontrollable, and he felt as if he might be sick whilst at the same time feeling like the walls were about to fall in on him. He put a hand over his heart, desperately trying to massage away the tightness in his chest, and tried to ignore the look, a mix of guilt and pity, that Loki was giving him. 

 

“I know. You need not say it.” Loki's voice was uncharacteristically quiet, almost a whisper, and Clint was sure his new-found conscience was weighing up exactly what he had once done to the man sat next to him. His eyes could look anywhere but at Clint, settling on the bed between them as his hair fell in front of his face, once again putting his refined features in shadow. 

 

“Please don't look at me like that.” Clint said, quietly, hands uselessly in his lap. “All that guilt... It's not... You don't have to feel guilty.” He said, with a shrug of his shoulders, a soft sentiment lost in the gravity of the situation. Loki looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time since Clint had started panicking, a resigned smile touching his lips. 

 

“Clint, I'm -” Clint held up a weary hand to stop Loki mid-sentence.

 

“You already apologised once.”

  
“And I know that, from my lips, apologies are cheap. But I am sorry.” Loki's eyes seemed to darken a shade as he wrapped his arms around himself. Clint shuffled across the bed so he was sitting almost on top of Loki, and put his arms tightly around the god. 

 

“I know. And it's okay.”

 


	48. The Finality of the Expression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised an update like a month ago? Whoops? But here it is, at long fuckin' last.

For a few days their passion quelled, and they moved as one within the flat; never meeting but never parting, they kept the flat running as a unit, and it was only the cars drawing up to the curb outside which split the pair as Loki left to perform his community service. Without him Clint felt lost, but also as if a weight in his chest had lifted and he could breathe more freely. He spent the time apart perched in his chair, legs curled underneath him, watching New York flash past the windows both in fast and slow motion. When the lock in his front door turned, for Loki had helped himself to a spare key, he could feel his throat constrict but a warmth spread through him from the pit of his stomach.

  
There was no indication that today would be like any other, that Loki would not come home and they would continue their separate but intertwined lives about the flat; Loki reading and dusting and washing up, Clint making pot upon pot of coffee and alternately turning the television on and off whenever he felt the need to fill the flat with noise. Today was different. The lock turned and Loki stepped in, hair falling from the loose ponytail he had thrown it in, Ramones t-shirt stained from that day's hard work at the soup kitchen. He had in his hand a bag from Mama Jo's, as he always did, containing their dinner. Clint usually remained in his chair until Loki had plated whatever Mama Jo's special was that day, but today was different. He stood, and crossed the distance between them. Loki, taken by surprise, stopped in his tracks.

 

“Is something the matter?” He asked, voice cautious, as Clint merely looked at him, head slightly cocked.

 

“You look different.”

 

He didn't know if it was the slight kink the kitchen's steam had given the god's hair, or the way his t-shirt seemed to stretch slightly over the muscle he had gained from all the heavy lifting, but something was different about the man which stood in front of him. Loki put the bag and his keys on the side table by the door, and straightened up slowly.

 

“I do?” He echoed, cautiously, hands already open in apology as if waiting for Clint to strike. Instead, the archer broke into a smile. In two steps he had crossed the flat, his hands automatically finding Loki's hips as if that was what they were made to do.

 

“Yeah,” Clint said, before kissing him brusquely, “And I like it.”

 

*

 

There was no sense of cold in the flat that night, although they had both been expecting it; Clint, with his memories swirling around his situation in the past and the present, and Loki, the novelty, the solution, waiting for Clint to realise that he had now resolved all his issues. Instead, that expected coldness was replaced with a glow, not fiery but comforting, a hot bath on a winter's night, encompassing them both in a delicate sphere of growing tenderness.

 

The late afternoon grew through twilight into evening into darkness, with nothing lighting the bed in which they lay except the distant glare of the street-lights outside. Clint could not sleep, although he hadn't been expecting to be able to, and whilst they had lain awake together for the longest time it was only inevitable that Loki, after a hard day's work, would eventually fall asleep. His chest rose and fell softly above the line of the sheets across his waist and Clint took him in, in his entirety, something screaming in the back of his head but the burn of the afterglow enough to keep it silent. They hadn't spoke, in the time they had been awake together, because there was nothing that could have been said; they were both changed men and no words that could have passed between them could have explained it.

 

The ice in Loki's fingertips had gone, as he had run them over the length and width of Clint's body, as if he were exploring him, as if he were truly seeing him, for the first time. Clint had been silent, stoic, but not panicked, not as his mind would have him expect he would be – for, after all, something about the whole situation felt natural, felt right. He had never been in love, and he wasn't sure this is how he would imagine it, for no angels sang and now rose petals littered the floor, but it was close and that was enough to keep him from running.

 

Loki shifted in his sleep, turning his face away, and Clint felt himself tense and then forcibly relax as he always did whenever Loki moved as he was not expecting. He smiled to himself, at his own sense of fear, for nothing now would ever frighten him again.

 


End file.
